Mellizo Wolves (3 page)

She still
hurt deeply for Damon when he screamed out in the midnight darkness and
violently thrashed about in bed. Aware that his agony came from a false sense
of guilt, she would hold him and gently explain that it wasn’t Damon the man
who had ripped out the throat of his own brother. It was his alpha werewolf
persona, instinctively protecting those he loved.

Angela
sighed and snuggled deeper into Damon’s arms. Suddenly, she felt much older
than her twenty-one years.

“I’m not
the only one with a past,” he said, holding her closer.

She
smiled up at him. “I know. We’re quite the pair.”

She’d
lived a lifetime in the months since the night she first morphed. Actually,
everything started going downhill on her eighteenth birthday when she
discovered she was adopted and that her birth mother, Crystal, had committed
suicide. Then on her twenty-first birthday, she’d learned about the journal and
the curse. But it wasn’t until the full moonlit night of October 31st that the
curse manifested and knocked her world off kilter. Would her soon to be born
daughters have to go through the same struggles and live with the same fears?
Dear
God, keep them safe…

* * * *

Angela
awoke to what she figured was at least a 6.0 earthquake. Portraits and works of
art shuddered against the walls, shifting and losing their levelness. The towel
over Damon’s parents’ portrait slipped to the floor in a ghostly flutter. The
picture fell upside down on top of it with a loud thump. Window glass rattled.
The floors rolled and pitched so hard, she had visions of the historic mansion
crumbling down around their shoulders. She stiffened as the rumbling echoed
around her. Damon held her tightly. “Relax,” he said in his deep, comforting
tone. “The Lamont Mansion is structurally sound and as solid as the mountain.”

“Yes, I
remember how solid the mountain was during the rainstorm when the roads washed
away.” She had a great urge to run to a doorway, but Damon held her closer. She
forced herself to nestle deeper into the cocoon of his arms. When everything
stilled, she tried to go back to sleep, but it was useless. “Damon, I can’t
sleep.”

“I can
fix that,” he whispered into her ear. Still facing her, her reached around and
began to caress her shoulders, her back, massaging deeply with powerful
fingers. Even after he’d stopped, the embedded warmth and tingling flesh
remained. He kissed her breasts and moved lower. She barely heard the whisper
of the sheets as he changed position. Then, he was fondling the moisture
between her legs. His erection pulsed against her thigh. Fierce and hot desire
rose within her and she reciprocated, caressing him. He moaned, and she guided
him into her waiting hot silkiness. Alive with desire, they performed the undulation
of love slowly, teasingly.

When the
wildness kicked into gear, she arched and writhed, turning the slow, sensual
dance into a primal, violent, fiery, volcanic eruption, riotous and
uncontrolled. As they soared to the pinnacle, her scream of release echoed
around the chamber, unrestrained.

After she
stilled and went limp, Damon kissed her tenderly and rolled off of her. He drew
her into his arms and closed his eyes again. Within seconds, his breathing
evened and she knew he was asleep.

How do
men do that?
She
was awake for the day. She did her two-hundred sit-ups. When she finished, her
gaze fell on the wall where Damon’s parents’ portrait had hung. She stiffened.
There were two pea-sized holes in the wall. She slipped out of bed to get a
closer look. She lined up her eyes and tried to look into the small punctures,
but saw only darkness. She yanked a tissue from its filigree container, balled
up two tiny pieces, and stuffed them into the holes. She would ask the new
jack-of-all trades houseman, Kyle Cooper, to putty the holes and touch up the
paint. She picked up the portrait with holes in the eyes and shook her head.
Did Damon know about the spy holes?

She reached
out to shake him awake, but he looked so peaceful and innocent in slumber that
she stayed her hand, wondering about the wisdom of attacking her new husband in
his sleep, especially so soon after making love. Forcing herself to calm down
and take some time to think this through, she tiptoed out of the room. Still
broiling with unspent anger, she furiously darted down the long, curving
stairway. By the time she’d reached the bottom step, she had an urge to tromp
right back up stairs and get this settled. Was that wise? She really needed to
think things through. She scanned the living room. The only evidence of the
earthquake was more askew pictures and wall mirrors. She felt a surge of
gratitude. The damage could’ve been much worse, she thought, heading for the
kitchen.

The
troubled day had started with a double jolt—first the earthquake, and then the
discovery of the holes behind the portrait. She knew Damon couldn’t do a
blasted thing about the earthquake, but he sure as the devil better have a good
explanation for the holes in the wall. Had he put them there? If not, who then?

The storm
had subsided, and the sun peeked out from behind a cloud, bringing warm, golden
ribbons of sunshine into the kitchen. Somehow, the passing of the storm and the
newness of the day lifted her spirits. Since the jack-of-all-trades
houseman-cook wasn’t around, and since she had all this pent-up volatile
energy, she decided to whip up some breakfast. As she furiously scrambled eggs,
she listened to the local news station to verify that the road conditions were
safe for them to leave the mountain for their appointment with Madam Nola.

A
geologist came on and talked about the earthquake damage to the local area.
Listening with interest, she popped some turkey bacon wrapped in paper towels
into the microwave and was about to pour her beaten-to-death eggs into the
frying pan when the geologist started describing the area behind the mansion.
She froze.

“The 6.0
earthquake had an unusual roll,” he said, “and the land under the shadow of Mt.
Baldy has undergone serious shifting. This has set off a chain of events that,
over time, could very well significantly change the composition of everything
within a two mile radius, giving form to new species of plants and animals—and
perhaps undermining the stability of the hillside. Further study is required to
determine how this strange phenomenon might affect our community.”

Oh, my
God.
It was
within the two-mile radius he described that Madam Nola had scattered Reeves’
ashes. It also encompassed the cave where Damon buried Hugo. Geologists digging
around in their hillside could bring trouble.

Chapter Two

When
Damon came down to breakfast a few minutes later, Angela relayed the
geologist’s report. He frowned. “Don’t worry. Like I said, our structure is
sound.” He ate only a few bites of breakfast then glanced at his watch. “Gotta
go. I’m late.” He scraped the eggs and bacon onto the toast, folded it quickly
into a sandwich, and wrapped a napkin around it. “I’ll eat this on the way.”

An image
of the holes in the bedroom walls and in the portrait flashed in her mind.

“Do you
really have to go into your office today?” She couldn’t keep the irritation out
of her voice. “We have important things to discuss—”

“Later, I
promise. Remember, I told you—a rush project came in. I’ll be back at one
o’clock to pick you up in plenty of time for our two o’clock appointment.” He
winked, gave her a quick kiss on her lips, then headed out the door, leaving
her to stew about the holes in the wall and all of the other unknowns in her
life.

Before
she could work up a good steam of angst, her mom called. “Are you okay?”

“Just
shaken a bit. Damon’s gone to work and I could use some company.”

“Then I’m
coming over. I want to hear more about this pregnancy.”

Angela’s
mouth fell open. “How did you find out about that?”

Her mom
laughed. “I saw Dr. Lopez’s nurse last night at our prayer meeting, and she
mentioned how great you looked. I added up two and two and figured she’d seen
you in the gynecologist’s office. With your quickie marriage and a visit to
your GYN, I deduced you might be pregnant.”

“You’ve
been watching those detective stories on TV again, haven’t you?”

“Yes, but
that’s not it. I got suspicious when you slipped away without a proper
wedding.”

“Mom, I
told you about that. After all that happened, we just wanted a quiet ceremony
with no fuss. Besides, we thought it would be easier on Dad. He still acts a
little miffed at Damon. None of us need to deal with any extra tension right
now. Surely you understand.”

“But, you
are
pregnant, right?”

“We’ll
talk about it when you get here. I’ll ask Kyle, our houseman, to pop a fresh
batch of cinnamon rolls into the oven. He used to help his dad in their family
bakery and the guy is a genius with pastries.”

* * * *

Forty
minutes later, Angela checked out the enclosed glass veranda to be sure Kyle
had it set up nicely for her coffee party with her mom. He was just finishing
up when she entered. Angela looked him up and down. He was about her age with
spiky carrot-top hair and intelligent water-blue eyes. Like all Damon’s staff,
he was a bit odd. He moved about the mansion like an undernourished ghost,
always sneaking up on her. This time, she’d tried to sneak up on him, but he
turned immediately.

“All set,”
he said, flashing a toothy grin.

She felt
invigorated by his enthusiasm, and warmed by the aroma of cinnamon, coffee, and
pine spiking the air. The setting looked festive with the white tablecloth and
candles. The centerpiece of fragrant evergreen branches, pine cone, and two big
red bows added to something special to the occasion.

“Thanks
for doing such a lovely job, Kyle.” She felt the warmth of her smile deep in
her heart. “I need to ask you to do another project this morning. I wouldn’t
bother you, but it’s important.” She rushed on, not waiting for an answer.
“There’re some holes in the wall in the master bedroom. Please fill them right
away and touch up the paint.”

Something
flickered in his eyes, and then he grinned. “Good as done,” he said.

She
stroked a pine needle and inhaled the heady, fresh scent. When she looked up to
tell Kyle not to re-hang the portrait, he was gone. She shivered, remembering
how Damon’s half-brother Reeves used to disappear like an apparition. Damon had
trusted him and that unwavering trust nearly proved fatal.

* * * *

Fifteen
minutes later, she opened the door to her petite and beaming adoptive mom, a
salt-and-pepper redhead. Her quick smile made Angela’s heart skip a beat. She
hugged her tightly, feeling closer than if Mom number two had actually given
birth to her.

“Okay,
tell me about my grandbaby.”

Angela
smiled. Mom had the energy of a thirty-year-old and would thoroughly enjoy
grandchildren. “Don’t hurry me, Mom. Let’s get a cup of coffee and our rolls
first.”

When they
where seated, Angela took a long breath, let it out slowly, and then said, “Not
grandbaby, Mom. It’s grand…
babies.
”

Her
mother squealed and rushed around the table to hug her. “Really?” Her eyes
glistened with moisture.

Angela
handed her the report and sonogram with a lump in her throat. “Twin girls.”

“When?”

Angela
forced down her fears and pasted on a smile. “Next July.”

Apparently,
Mom saw no significance in the month, and began talking about helping her
decorate a room for the nursery.

After Mom
left, it was time to get showered and dressed. Damon would be returning home
within the hour. Angela prayed they’d get some solid answers.

* * * *

Angela
stared at the psychic’s one-story house with its pitched roof and gingerbread
turquoise shutters. She grasped Damon’s arm a little tighter as they walked up
the stone path. “Are you telling me she runs her scam out of her home?”

He
grinned down at her. “Relax. Think of this visit as an adventure.”

Angela
glared at Damon. It was originally her idea to come here, but had she made a
mistake? She was grateful for what Nola had done for them in the past, but
she’d never trusted her. When she first heard about the psychic from her
mother, she’d expected a Gypsy with a black turban and jangling gold earrings.
After they met for the first time at the ritual out in the wild, hilly acreage
behind the mansion, it had stunned her to learn that the psychic was a spunky
Barbie doll dwarf in high-heeled boots.

She
wondered what surprises Barbie had in store for them today. She rubbed her
throbbing head. Each time she doubted the validity of the results of Madam
Nola’s ritual, she reminded herself she’d actually seen her own wolf
counterpart sucked out from within her body and enter Damon. And then, she’d
seen both wolves sucked from Damon nostrils and run off into the hills.