Secret of the Wolf (50 page)

even love, for those who had mistreated them. But May hadn't wanted anything to do

with her father. Did she want to protect Ingram, or was she hoping he'd be removed

permanently from her life? More likely, she was simply confused, torn by conflicting

needs and desires. Who could blame her?

Johanna could see May to a safe place and go to the police. It was a certain death

warrant for those men who went after him, for Fenris was more than human. He'd kill

without compunction. "I'll get you to safety," she told May, "and then I'll do what I can.”

May buried her face in Johanna's bodice. "Please don't leave me alone.”

"Oh, she won't leave you, Miss Ingram," said a familiar, masculine baritone. "At least not

yet.”

Johanna turned, pushing May behind her. She knew that voice, though his face was in

shadow
.

Bolkonsky
.

He walked through the door and kicked it shut with one well-shod foot. In the

semidarkness, his pale hair flowed like tarnished silver to his shoulders. The gun in his

hand had the same dull sheen
.

"I wish we had met under less unfortunate circumstances, Johanna," he said, tipping his

hat with his free hand. "How was your trip to San Francisco?”

Johanna reached into her pocket. Bolkonsky cocked his gun. "Please hold your hands

away from your sides," he said. "I'd rather not be forced to shoot you.”

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She obeyed, stunned at the hatred she felt. "You will not take her. I will not let you.”

"So you've said many times, in one fashion or another," he said. "When my man didn't

arrive with the girl at the appointed time, I knew something had gone wrong. Eventually I

learned why.”

"You went to a great deal of trouble to take May from the Haven," Johanna said coldly.

"Did her father hope to spirit her away with none the wiser? Did you both think I'd give

up so easily?”

"Your stubbornness is almost admirable. But it doesn't matter now.”

Johanna eyed the door behind him. What she needed was a diversion, one that would

allow her to grab her gun
.

"Why doesn't it matter?" she asked, shuffling a step forward. "You cannot expect me to

remain silent. I can make things very uncomfortable for May's father. Ingram may be

powerful, but, as you said, I am extremely stubborn.”

"You're hardly in a position to threaten," he said pleasantly
.

"I do not fear for my reputation, professional or otherwise, if sacrificing it means saving

May. And if you intend to use that"—she nodded toward his gun and moved another

step—"you'll hardly draw attention away from your patron, or yourself.”

"You're right. And if it were my intention to take May to her father, I might even be

concerned. But that was never my true object, Johanna.”

She checked her subtle forward motion. "What?”

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"My dear girl, have I managed to surprise you? How delightful." He smiled. "The focus

of all my efforts—my seeking of your acquaintance and that of May's father, my pursuit

of the girl, everything I've done since we met—has been another of your patients. Can

you guess which one?”

The face of each of the Haven's residents flashed through her mind in the space of a

second. It could be any one of them, except possibly Oscar—each had his or her own

past secrets even she didn't know
.

But, without so much as a single iota of corroborative evidence, her intuition told her the

answer
.

"Quentin," she whispered
.

"Excellent. You're a bright woman, for a human.”

The hair rose on the back of her neck. "Who are you?”

"Quentin knows me. We're old friends.”

Behind him, the door groaned. Bolkonsky leaped about, graceful as a dancer. Johanna

reached into her pocket and pulled out the gun. Bolkonsky thrust out one arm without

even looking at her, knocking the gun from her hand. Then he hit her in the chest, and

all the air poured from her lungs. She fell to her knees, gasping, just as Bolkonsky

yanked the door open to reveal the man on the other side
.

"Quentin!" May cried
.

Johanna peered through the black spots that crowded her vision. Quentin stood in the

doorway, hands at his sides, staring at Bolkonsky. Quentin, not Fenris. The difference

was plain to her heart, if not her eyes. She had no voice to call out a warning
.

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"Quentin," Bolkonsky said. "It's been a long time.”

"Stefan Boroskov," Quentin said, dull surprise in his voice. His gaze found Johanna, and

May just behind her. "Let them go.”

"I think not." Bolkonsky—Boroskov—retrieved Johanna's gun, tucked it under his coat,

and gestured with his own weapon. "Come in, old friend. We have so much to talk

about.”

Quentin had expected disaster, but hardly of this magnitude. He could ill afford the

luxury of astonishment
.

He walked into a room half-familiar in its rank decay, and came to a stop between

Johanna and Boroskov. His thoughts were reluctant to focus, but this was the time

above all when he must remain master of his mind
.

That brittle clarity was all he had with which to face one of his family's oldest enemies
.

Stefan Boroskov, who he'd last seen in England five years ago. Boroskov, with Johanna

and May. Quentin knew how May had come to be here—Fenris had brought her.

Johanna had surely followed in search of one or both of them. But Boroskov

"Now that we're all together," the Russian said, "I think we should have formal

introductions. If you please, Quentin?”

He ignored Boroskov and spoke to Johanna. "This was your Bolkonsky, wasn't he?”

"Yes." She tried to convey some message with her eyes that he couldn't interpret. "That

is what he called himself.”

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"And I never suspected." He turned back to his enemy. "How did you contrive that,

Boroskov? You stayed away from the Haven, but I should have smelled you.”

"You didn't notice the scent of cologne about Johanna's person?" he asked. "I've found

that it masks subtler odors wonderfully well.”

"You have execrable taste in cologne.”

"Ah. I'm wounded to the quick." Boroskov touched his heart. "Yes, to Johanna I was

Feodor Bolkonsky, fellow practitioner to the insane and mentally afflicted, spokesman

for little May Ingram's bereaved father.”

"Who is he?" Johanna demanded, her gaze fixed on Boroskov. She moved to Quentin's

side, her shoulder brushing his. The contact sent his pulse spiralling. "Why has he done

this, Quentin? What does he want with you?”

Of course. Boroskov had tried to kidnap May, but the girl wasn't what he wanted. His

failure had been temporary. His real prey had come to him
.

"Such a curious human," Boroskov commented. "Perhaps you ought to explain,

Quentin, before she grows faint with confusion.”

Quentin laughed, the movement hurting his chest. "Johanna? You don't know her,

Boroskov.”

"But I do. Please, the introductions.”

Quentin bowed with heavy irony. "Johanna, may I present Stefan Boroskov," he said,

deliberately omitting the Russian's title. "His family and mine have been acquainted for

many generations. He is

like me.”

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Johanna understood. "A loup-garou," she said. She reached behind her to touch May's

arm
.

"Ah, she knows!" Boroskov said. "My informant at the Haven did not.”

"Your informant?" Johanna put in
.

"Irene DuBois. She gave me information about you and the Haven even before I first

contacted you, my dear doctor. We loups-garous have certain

talents. I would have

learned all I needed to know even had Irene not been so easy to manipulate. Because

of her eagerness to cooperate, and her considerable acting talents, I was able to

conveniently arrange my various distractions." He clucked at Johanna. "You didn't keep

your records and notes locked away. Not at all wise.”

"That explains—" Johanna began. Her expression hardened. "You promised to take

Irene away in exchange for her help in kidnapping May.”

"Among other things. But those are mere details. Of course Irene didn't know of

Quentin's nature, nor my own. Yet you and May do. Who else among your patients has

guessed, I wonder?”

"None," Quentin lied. By now at least two others did, but he wasn't about to jeopardize

them by suggesting otherwise. Boroskov despised humans, and would not tolerate a

perceived threat of any kind. "Did you think I'd go about advertising it?”

"Who knows what a drunkard might do in his cups? Did you ever cure him of that,

Johanna? But I digress. You were about to elucidate our relationship, Quentin, when I

so rudely interrupted.”

Quentin grasped at the change of subject. "Of course." He turned to Johanna. "The

Forsters and the Boroskovs have been

at odds for many years. Five years ago,

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Stefan and his brother attempted to kill my brother, Braden, the earl of Greyburn, in a

treacherous fight, hoping to capture the leadership of the loups-garous. The Boroskovs

lost, and Braden sent them home with their tails between their legs. He chose not to kill

them, though it was his right to do so." He smiled, showing his teeth. "Apparently it was

a mistake.”

Boroskov shook his head. "I don't know how much you've told her before, Quentin, but I

fear you haven't made matters any less confusing for our doctor. You see, my dear girl,

he has not defined the political complexities of our society, to which few humans are

privy. He has also neglected to mention the reason behind his family's hatred for mine.”

"Milena," Quentin said. "His sister and Braden's former wife, who betrayed and blinded

him before she herself died.”

As he expected, Boroskov's face contorted in anger. "Was murdered. Alas, that I don't

have time to explain the truth, Johanna.”

"Your society," Johanna said to Quentin, as if Boroskov hadn't spoken. "Are there so

many of you?”

"We're scattered, but there are still a few hundred families working to preserve our

race," Quentin said. "Within human society, we live as humans. Away from it, we have

our own rules, our own way of life. It is not always an ideal existence.”

"For good reason," Boroskov said. "We are superior, and yet we live like whipped curs,

hiding in our dens. And that is why, decades ago, your grandfather and my father

developed the great Cause of attaining dominance over humanity
.

Quentin's muscles seized up. Grandfather. The presence seething below the surface of

his thoughts took strength from his instinctive reaction. "That may have been your

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Cause," he said with an effort, "but it was never my brother's. He wished only to save

our kind from extinction.”

"Your brother turned from the path set by those stronger and wiser than he," Boroskov

said. "He perverted the Cause into something paltry and wretched.”

"He defeated you.”

"Temporarily, yes. But his lack of ruthlessness is one of his weaknesses, and the

reason why I am here now.”

"Why are you here, Boroskov? What do you want with me, and Johanna?”

Boroskov tilted his gun toward the floor. "You may well wonder. In these past few years

of following your progress, you've never shown any sign of remembering.”

"Following me?”

"Oh, not personally. Not until the past six months. I had trusted human servants, aware

of our secrets, tracking your movements and sending back their observations. You were

so caught up in your own miseries that you were oblivious to their presence.”

Quentin recalled a hundred times when he had ignored the sense of being watched. It

was a pathetic werewolf indeed who could not detect a human follower. But he had little

self-respect to lose
.

"You are about to ask why I had you followed," Boroskov prompted
.

"The question had occurred to me." Quentin glanced at Johanna and subtly pushed her

behind him. May was quiet as a mouse. "You said I showed no signs of remembering.

Remembering what?”

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"That is part of my story. Patience." He waved Johanna and May toward the dilapidated

sofa. "Sit down, dear doctor, and take the child with you.”