Luck of the Wolf (8 page)

“Yuri said you didn't know who I was because you and the other Reniers are only very distant cousins,” she said.

“That is true.”

“But Yuri said you come from the same place, this ‘Louisiana.' You
must
know them.”

Maybe she wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't been watching him so carefully, but Aria saw Cort's jaw clench and the skin twitch ever so slightly above his upper lip. “My family is…not of the same branch,” he said, looking away. “We seldom dealt with the New Orleans clan.”

“But you
have
met them?” She jumped up. “What are they like, my family?”

“We will discuss that at a later time. There are other things—”

“But who
am
I?” She started toward him, almost too excited to speak. “Yuri told me I was taken away from them when I was very young, and that they have been searching for me ever since.”

“You were kidnapped, stolen from the Reniers by a stranger.”

It took a moment for Aria to swallow her shock. Kidnapped? Had the Carantians kidnapped her? Why would anyone want to steal her from her family?

“Who was he?” she asked faintly.

“No one knows.”

She was almost too dazed to continue the conversation. “Did I have another name…before?”

“Lucienne,” he said in a strange, sad voice.

Lucienne.
It had a pretty sound to it, but it didn't feel right, no more than Anna did.

“You said you didn't want anyone else to know that
your name was Aria,” Cort said, looking at her again. “Have you remembered why?”

It would be so very easy to tell him now that she'd never lost her memory. She trusted Cort, didn't she? He had a right to know. She would be able to tell him all her fears and hopes and dreams.

And he'll think you're a liar and a cheat. He'll believe you never trusted him at all.

She backed away from him and sat on the couch again. “Please,” She said. “Tell me about my family.”

The corners of his eyes squeezed together. “They are
loups-garous.
”

“I know that. Yuri told me. But are they like
you?
”

He rose and smoothed his coat as if there were something left of it worth tidying. “You should rest, Aria. As soon as Yuri returns, we will find new lodgings until something more permanent can be arranged. A good hotel, somewhere those men won't dare accost you again. I'll begin packing.” He walked toward the bedroom and turned in the doorway. “Do not stir from this room.”

Aria sprang up, feeling as if she might jump right out of her skin even without the Change. Even though he hadn't said much about them, the way Yuri had spoken of the New Orleans Reniers made her certain that they must be like Cort. There would be ladies in tight, fancy dresses and gentlemen in embroidered vests, speaking in soft, pleasant voices.

Only Cort isn't always a gentleman,
she thought. He hadn't been soft or pleasant in the alley. She wasn't afraid of him when he was angry. In many ways, she understood him better when he lost his temper. When he was cool and calm and spoke in that easy drawl, she didn't really know who he was. Just as she didn't
understand how any werewolf could despise the Change and the other half of himself.

Caught between emotions she couldn't untangle, Aria took off the dress, picked up her needle and thread, and set about repairing it all over again.

 

“D
AMN YOU
, Y
URI
,” Cort snapped, the accent of his birth thick in his words. “First you tell Aria she's a Renier, and then you leave her by herself after I warned you to be vigilant. Are you mad?”

Cort's scowl was so grim that any human would have cowered instinctively in atavistic terror rather than face such a dreadful sight. Any human but Yuri.

It was not Cort's justified anger that affected Yuri now, but the realization that they had come so close to losing the girl. That was his own fault. His business had been urgent enough, it was true, but he had made a very serious mistake in believing she had sense enough to remain in the house. And in thinking that, because no one had tried to find her yet, they would be safe a little while longer.

“Calm yourself, my friend,” Yuri said, though he was anything but calm himself. “I told the girl because you refused to do so. We could not afford to wait until you were satisfied that she was Lucienne Renier.” He glanced toward their boardinghouse across the street. “In any case, you were victorious. You have certainly increased her trust in you by rescuing her.”

“Rescuing her?” Cort's voice dropped to a growl. “She fights like a demon.”

Or a wolf.
Yuri rubbed his arms. The heavy late-spring fog almost made him forget how much more miserable he would be in Russia at this very moment
without the resources to which he was entitled. The resources he might lose even before he gained them.

“These men,” he said. “Did you know them?”

“I may have seen the
loup-garou
in passing,” Cort said. “I didn't know the human, but—” He broke off and glared after a man scurrying along the street as if daring the unwitting interloper to notice his ragged suit.

But.
Yuri grimaced. He thought he knew what Cort must be thinking. They had always assumed that it would be Cochrane looking for the girl. But it would take a human fully aware of the existence of werewolves to hire one for such a job, and there were very few such men in San Francisco. What if another werewolf had been behind the attempted abduction?

An even deeper chill numbed Yuri's body.
Di Reinardus.
What if di Reinardus were here in San Francisco and had known about the tournament? What if he had hired Cochrane to play for him? What if he'd been biding his time ever since, waiting for just the right time to take the girl from the man who had won her?

If that were true, he would have made it his business to learn all about Cort. And that meant he would know that Yuri was with him.

Yuri's mouth was so dry he felt as if he hadn't taken a drink in weeks. “You had no clue as to who might have sent them?” he asked Cort.

Cort continued to scowl after the disappearing figure. “We are not the only ones who know of the missing Renier girl.”

Yuri's stomach heaved. “Who?” he said, choking on the word.

Cort explained in clipped sentences what had happened at the saloon. When he had finished, Yuri was
forced to lean against the nearest wall for fear that he might topple into the mud.

“Hugo…Brecht,” he said heavily. It wasn't a name he knew. But it was German, like many Carantian surnames, and Cort had said the man was
loup-garou
. “Why in God's name didn't you tell me before?”

“I intended to,” Cort said, too preoccupied to notice Yuri's reaction, “but I wanted to see if I could learn anything more about him first. He seems to be something of a cypher, but I'm convinced that he believes Aria is Lucienne. Whether he's in this for himself, or working on behalf of the Reniers, he doesn't want her identity to be made public.” He slammed his fist into the wall. “
Maudit imbécile
. He is more desperate than I believed.”

Yuri worked to steady his voice. “What did he look like, this Brecht?”

“Blue eyes, graying hair. A hard face.” Cort looked at Yuri through half-closed lids. “Why? Does he sound familiar to you?”

Familiar, yes. Too familiar. Except for the hair. But hair color could be changed.

“I…I am not sure,” Yuri said. “It is possible I met such a man in New Orleans.” He cleared his throat. “Yes, I believe he was one of those criminals who deal in extortion, and the secrets of the rich and powerful.”

A startled look crossed Cort's face. “Could he be the man who kidnapped Lucienne?”

Yuri laughed hoarsely. “Him? Impossible. Such a man would have claimed a ransom long ago. No, the man I remember would be just the sort to see the profit in—”

“Doing exactly what we plan to do?” Cort finished, apparently satisfied with Yuri's hasty answer. “In other
words, he is not the kidnapper, and he is not likely to be an agent of the Reniers.”

“
Nyet
. I cannot imagine how he could be.”

“Then his actions were those of an opportunist who hoped for an easy win with one swift strike,” Cort said. “He didn't achieve his goal, and he seems intelligent enough to cut his losses. Nevertheless—” He pulled out his pocket watch. “We must get Aria away within the hour.”

“Yes. Yes.” Yuri released his breath. “What did you say to the girl?”

“She didn't know him, of course. I told her he was
loup-garou,
one of the men who wanted to win her in the game.”

Tell him,
Yuri thought.
Tell him everything.

But he couldn't. There hadn't been any need for it when they'd first met in New Orleans, because di Reinardus had left with Lucienne and Yuri's part in the abduction was over. If he said anything now, Cort would never trust him again. He certainly wouldn't go along with the plan as Yuri had conceived it.

There is no plan
. How could there be? There was no standing against di Reinardus. He was ruthless and utterly without scruples. Nor could he easily be deceived. Cort might—
might
—be a match for him, except for one thing. Cort
did
have scruples. He might pretend he didn't, but it was all a sham. He played the cardsharp and trickster when necessary, but he had an honorable streak that Yuri had never been able to eradicate.

And yet that honor could give way to something much less civilized. Yuri understood just what it had meant for Cort to Change and fight as a wolf. If he were to return
to what he had been when Yuri met him, the situation could become very complicated.

Yuri ground his teeth with such force that his head exploded with pain. He had a decision to make. The wisest course for him would simply be to leave San Francisco. Forget loyalties he had never expected to run so deep.

“We can take her to a hotel for the time being,” Cort said, oblivious to the depth of Yuri's distress. “The Palace, I think.” He lifted his head to sniff the air. “If Brecht should try to abduct her again, he's likely to find that there are hardly unlimited numbers of
loups-garous
available for such employment in San Francisco.” He watched another man shuffle along the street. “Have you secured us a place outside the city?”

“An isolated hunting lodge in the Sierra Nevada. Its owner is conveniently out of the country and will hardly notice temporary tenants.”

“And the woman?”

“Babette is on her way from Denver.”

“How much have you told her?”

“She knows the girl is Lucienne.”

“But not that she goes by the name ‘Aria'?”

“No. But I see no reason—”

“I suggest that we allow Aria the decision about whether or not to tell Madame Martin.”

Yuri shrugged. “As you please.”

“Then finish your arrangements quickly. I'll take Aria to the Palace. Brecht's men won't take me by surprise again.”

Yuri could only hope that was the case. He might decide to abandon Cort and everything he had worked for, but he sincerely hoped the werewolf would find a way to outwit di Reinardus.

If he were to be honest, though, he was forced to admit that was as likely as finding five aces in an honest deck.

“You have enough money for the hotel?” he asked Cort.

“Enough to begin. I will get more, once we know Aria is safe.” Cort lowered his head, and Yuri could sense the wolf bristling under the other man's skin. “There can be no more mistakes, Yuri. Next time…”

“There will be no next time,” Yuri said. “The girl is too valuable a commodity to risk.”

For a moment Yuri was convinced that Cort was about to strike him. His eyes had gone cold, and his lips had curled back from his teeth. Something very like hatred burned in his face.

The moment passed, but it left a sour taste in Yuri's mouth, sourer even than the taste of his fear.

“I will go,” he said. He set off at a brisk pace, fingering the tiny, bejeweled Derringer in his trouser pocket.

It was too late to warn Babette off now, of course. She would arrive in San Francisco very soon, and the best Yuri could do was meet her and send her right back to Denver. Hell, he would go with her. Anything to avoid what was surely coming.

If he had any sense, he wouldn't wait at all. When no one came for Babette at the station…well, she was a clever and resourceful woman. She would find a way to—

There was no sound at all, no warning. A hand closed over Yuri's mouth before he could even think of drawing the Derringer.

“Take care, my friend,” a familiar voice whispered. “No harm will befall you if you come quietly.”

A
HARD, MUSCULAR ARM
locked around Yuri's chest, pulling him off the street. Yuri let himself go limp, knowing there was no use fighting. San Francisco's alleys were endlessly convenient for trysts, clandestine meetings—and ambushes. There was little chance anyone had seen what had just happened, or would have cared if they had.

All he could do was pretend a confidence he was far from feeling.

“There,” the voice said. “We shall have privacy here.” Di Reinardus removed his hand from Yuri's mouth. “I apologize for the violence, old friend. I have urgent matters to discuss with you.”

Yuri turned to face the duke, bile in his throat. The Carantian had hardly changed in the eight years since he had abandoned Yuri in New Orleans.

“Gunther,” Yuri said, deliberately using the duke's Christian name. “It has been a long time.”

In New Orleans such familiarity would have offended di Reinardus's dignity, though he and Yuri had already known each other in Russia for a number of years before the abduction.

Today, the duke merely shrugged. “So it has,” he said coolly. “I confess, I did not imagine we would ever meet again.”

I'm sure you did not,
Yuri thought with an inward sneer. But he didn't let his contempt show on his face.

“I do regret how things turned out in New Orleans,” Gunther said, stepping back. “When the opportunity arose to take Alese, I had no time to consider anything but an immediate departure.”

“Of course,” Yuri said, smiling icily. “You could not have been expected to send for me afterward. Your great plan was far more important. I completely understand.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

Yuri bit back his laugh, knowing the duke was quite indifferent to his feelings one way or another.

“We had good times together, didn't we, Baron?” Gunther said. “You were a loyal ally, coming ahead of me to America and confirming the girl's identity. If it had not been for you, I might never have learned that Lucienne Renier was in truth Alese di Reinardus.” He shook his head. “The queen was clever in those last hours of her life. Sending her daughter to live with distant cousins in the United States, to be raised as one of them, protected from those who might use her to win the throne.” He smiled. “Her Majesty's plan did not go quite as expected, however.”

Yuri's anger made him reckless. “Yet Alese is no longer with you,” he said.

The duke's good humor vanished like the sun behind an eclipse. “I had her for four years, Chernikov. She was sixteen, nearly ready. But she—” He broke off, his upper lip quivering with rage.

“She escaped,” Yuri finished, unable to forgo the dangerous pleasure of seeing di Reinardus admit failure.

Gunther didn't answer immediately. He struggled
with his emotions as Cort had struggled, wolf contending with man.

“Ja,”
he said at last. “But I have found her again.” His arm snapped out, and his fingers snagged Yuri's collar with vicious force. “What have you planned, Chernikov? To return her to the Reniers for a price?”

It would do no good at all to lie and tell the duke that he had no such plan. “You spoke to Cort Renier,” he said.

“An
honorable
man,” di Reinardus spat. “How did you come to be acquainted?”

“We met in New Orleans soon after the abduction, when I found myself at loose ends.”

“Ah. A mysterious character, this Cort Renier. What are his origins?”

“He is not one of Alese's close kin, as you surely know by now. It was merely coincidence that we met at all, and I did not ask about his background. It was unnecessary.” He shrugged. “I found certain of his skills to be advantageous to my future.”

“Advantageous? He has some ability as a gambler, but you hardly appear to be enjoying a life of luxury.”

“Yet he won the girl.” Yuri smiled spitefully. “I presume you had a man playing for her?”

The duke examined his spotless fingernails. “Did he recognize the girl when he entered the game?”

“Even I didn't know who she was until afterward. Renier had no knowledge of her origins.”

“What drove him, then? Lust?”

“Occasionally his motives escape me, even after eight years.”

“And has she told him who she is?”

Yuri could see no way of avoiding the apparent truth. “She claims not to remember who she is.”

“What?”

“She says her name is Aria, and that she has no memory of her past life.”

“I find that very difficult to believe.”

“Nevertheless, she has resolutely abided by her claim. She behaves nothing like a lady of the New Orleans clan. There is no telling what may have happened to her in the four years since she escaped your tender care.”

The duke stroked his chin. “You have of course told your associate who she is.”

“I haven't told him that Lucienne is a princess.”

“That was wise of you.” Di Reinardus dropped his hand. “Renier has agreed to your plan to sell the girl to the Reniers?”

“He has. You will not find it so easy to try for her a second time.”

The duke's fist tightened, digging into Yuri's skin. “Do you presume to think you can stop me?”

“I presume nothing,” Yuri whispered, no longer able to draw a full breath. “I am…leaving San Francisco.”

“Because you found out I was here?”

There was no need to answer that question. “Monsieur Renier…is no weakling. He—”

“You call him a friend,” the duke said, “yet you would betray him to save your life.”

“For the sake of my life? Yes, I would betray him.
I
am not an honorable man.”

“True enough.” The duke released him again. “But you will certainly be useful to me, honorable or not.”

Yuri straightened his collar. “And what recompense will I receive for risking my life against my former colleague?”

The blow caught Yuri full across the mouth. “You said it yourself,” di Reinardus said. “Your life.”

Yuri wiped the blood from his lips. “Is that all?”

The duke examined his right glove for rips. “You are not indispensable to me, Chernikov. Never forget that fact.”

There was no doubt as to what Yuri ought to do now. Grovel on his belly and beg for mercy. But his blood was running hot with the pride of Russia's ancient aristocracy. He had not forgotten what he had been, what he might become again. He was Gunther's equal in birth and breeding. He would not cower like a slave. Not this time.

“I cannot simply take the girl from him,” he said. “He defeated your mongrels handily. He could kill me as easily as you can.”

Gunther's face was granite sheathed in ice. “You will have to choose, Baron, whose wrath you prefer to provoke—mine or Renier's. If you make the error of telling him of our little discussion, you will not have another opportunity to make the same mistake.”

Yuri probed a loose tooth with his tongue, checking his rage behind a soft voice. “What do you want me to do?”

“You need only continue to keep Renier's trust. I will let you know when I need you.”

Then the duke turned and disappeared into the fog. Yuri fingered his neck. He knew he would have bruises there for days to come, and he would have to hide them from Cort. He couldn't afford to lie about how he'd come by them.

For he had no doubt that Gunther di Reinardus would be watching him. Watching him and Cort and the girl. Having been defeated once, the duke would not take immediate action. He would wait patiently for the right moment to strike again.

The Russian language had many excellent words for cursing, and Yuri used them all as he walked out of the alley. Just as Gunther had said, he would have to decide, knowing full well that the duke would use him again without paying for his “loyalty.” Di Reinardus might even find it convenient to destroy his tool once it had ceased to be useful.

Cort wouldn't so easily turn on Yuri, even if Yuri admitted something of the truth. But Yuri knew he was a hopeless coward. If he was lucky, he might aid Cort a little longer before he surrendered to the necessities of self-preservation.

 

T
HE
P
ALACE
H
OTEL
was a marvel of architecture and elegance. Aria knew it because Cort had told her so. But it was not the outer edifice, rising seven stories above Market Street, that impressed her most. When the carriage entered the Grand Court and stopped behind the other vehicles, each with its cargo of ladies and gentlemen, she couldn't help but gape. At one end of the court stood dozens of potted plants the likes of which she'd never seen before, with broad, waxy leaves curving gracefully toward the floor. A band was playing just out of sight, and fountains bubbled on every side of the courtyard.

When she had come by train from New York to San Francisco, she had found shelter wherever she could while the other passengers went to hotels near the station. She hadn't been able to see inside them, but from the way they had looked on the outside, she doubted they were this grand.

“Aria.”

She glanced at Cort, half-dazed. He stood outside the open carriage door, offering a gloved hand with an
impatient gesture. He was wearing a brand-new suit he had bought to replace the one that had been ruined during the fight, and he looked as handsome, as elegant, as ever. Though she had never seen him wearing anything but a gentleman's clothes, he seemed like a stranger to her. As strange as this foreign world she would have to learn to understand.

Trying and failing to crush the gnawing doubt that refused to go away, Aria tugged free the hem of her cloak, which had caught on the carriage seat, and hopped down. Cort pulled the wide brim of her hat lower over her eyes, adjusted the cloak around her shoulders and tilted her chin up with his fingertip.

“Are you afraid?” he asked.

“Of course not.”

But now that she was on her feet again, she wasn't quite so certain. She felt as if she were standing in one of the vast cathedrals Franz had once described, in this cavernous space with tier upon tier of white-columned balconies from which guests looked down, appearing hardly larger than ants. The ceiling above the court was made of glass, and sunlight streamed down with a soothing warmth that almost eased her fear.

Almost. She fingered the shiny clasp Cort had given her along with the cloak, wishing she were back in the old boardinghouse in her shirt and trousers. The much-mended dress chafed her skin. Cort had said she had to wear the cloak to cover it up, because where they were going people would notice her too much if she went just as she was.

I don't care if they notice me,
she thought. But as she watched the men and women parading through the wide, glass-paned doors that led into the hotel proper, she knew she
did
care. Because Cort did.

He had called her beautiful.

“Remember,” he said, offering his arm, “keep your hat low, and let me do the talking.”

“I haven't forgotten,” she mumbled, hooking her arm through the crook of his elbow and hoping he wouldn't feel her shaking.

Cort strolled along as if he had always lived in this place, tipping his hat to the ladies and nodding to the gentlemen. Aria shut out the overwhelming sights and smells, and remembered the things he had told her before they left the boardinghouse for good.

“You will need to become reaccustomed to the finer things in life,” he'd said, as she'd tucked the last of her new belongings into a carpet bag. “The Reniers of New Orleans are wealthy and spare no expense in their luxuries. They are highly educated, and wear clothing designed and made by the best English and Parisian tailors. They have considerable power and influence in politics and commerce, and they own large blocks of the best real estate in the city. They move in the highest circles of society.”

“With other werewolves?” Aria had asked.

“Most of their dealings are with the human elite. Of course they don't display their dual natures except among a select few.” He had given her a very serious, almost admonishing look. “If you are to present yourself as their lost kin, you must be what they expect you to be.”

It was the same lecture he'd given her when he had thought he would find her family in San Francisco, but worse. It didn't matter how long she'd been missing or where she'd been. The Reniers might not accept her if she didn't have all the graces demanded by good society.

She would need proper speech, proper manners and pride to go along with her position.

“Maybe I don't want them if they don't want me the way I am,” she had said.

Cort had caught her under the chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Would you live the rest of your life in the gutter, with no money and no prospects, when you could have every comfort for the rest of your life?” His mouth twisted. “Believe me, Aria. Such comforts are few and far between for most in this world. To reject them would be the height of folly.”

She'd wondered if that were really true. The Reniers were wealthy, and she knew money was very important in the world outside the mountains. She supposed that she and Franz had been poor, but she had never lacked for anything she needed: food, shelter, clothing—even a pony.

If I stayed with Cort,
she'd thought,
it wouldn't matter if I was rich or “proper.”

The idea was so startling that she didn't dare follow where it led. She'd said the first thing that popped into her head.

“Would
your
family expect me to be perfect?”

He'd given her a narrow glance, as if he had never expected such a question. “My family…they are not as powerful as the New Orleans Reniers.” His lip twitched again. “They would expect…” He trailed off, staring at the carpetbag with no expression at all. “You belong to the New Orleans Reniers, and their opinion is all that should concern you.”