To Catch a Wolf (14 page)

black wolf dashed after the panicky horse.

Athena had the fascinating sensation of floating, as if she had become an aerialist

herself. The wolf put on a burst of incredible speed, overtook the horse just a few feet

from Athena's chair, and shouldered it aside. She could feel the rush of air as the wolf

passed, hear its panting and the squeal of the horse.

Then she began to tremble. Raised voices faded in and out of her hearing. Only her

vision remained sharp. With perfect clarity she saw Caitlin grab for the errant horse and

take it in hand, watched the wolf skid to a stop and shake its dark coat. The unearthly

mist surrounded it again, and when it cleared Morgan Holt stood in the wolf's place.

He was quite, quite naked. Magnificent. Athena bit down hard on her lower lip,

struggling to escape the dreamlike unreality that had taken her mind captive. All her

senses were working again, but her thoughts spun around and around in helpless

circles.

She knew what she had seen. She knew.

Morgan took a step in Athena's direction. A trouper came up behind him and slung a

heavy cape over his shoulders. Morgan fastened it and strode toward Athena, looking

neither to the right nor left. Her view of him was blocked by the small crowd of circus

folk who gathered about her. They seemed afraid to speak. Her own tongue was frozen.

"Miss Athena! Are you well?" Harry French's voice shook as he crouched beside her. "I

have no words to express our—”

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"Later, Harry." The crowd parted for Morgan, and he came to stand before her chair. His

eyes—wolf's eyes—held hers. "Can't you see she needs quiet?”

Harry backed away. "Of course. Of course. Let her lie down somewhere. I—”

Without waiting for Harry to finish, Morgan swooped like a striking eagle and gathered

Athena into his arms. She felt the thumping of his heart against her side, and his breath

in her hair. His steps were so swift that she seemed to fly through the air on invisible

wings.

No one had touched her this way except her brother, Romero, or Brinkley when they

carried her to or from the carriage or from one chair to another. Those occasions had

been impersonal, a matter of necessity. This was very different.

Morgan Holt held her. He could as easily have pushed her in the chair. She was not on

the edge of death, no matter how shaken she was. But he carried her straight across

the ring and through the rear entrance—the "back door," she incongruously recalled—to

an antechamber furnished with chairs, a table, and a cot.

He laid her on the cot and settled her comfortably, smoothing her skirt without touching

any higher than her knees. Lightning raced up and down her body, spiking below her

waist. Phantom sensation—but oh, how wondrous!

Drunk. She felt as the inebriated must feel, though she had not touched a drop. Morgan

produced a thin wool blanket and draped it over her. He dragged a chair beside the cot

and sat down, wrapping the voluminous cape about him. She could not seem to forget

that he was completely naked underneath it. His face was just a foot from hers, and she

could see every detail of his features, so much more than she had remembered.

"Miss Munroe," he said. His voice was rough as gravel and filled with concern. Yes,

concern, from Morgan Holt. "You are not hurt?”

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"No." She smiled like a mooncalf. "I am quite all right.”

He got up and stepped behind a blanket hung across one corner of the tent. He

emerged a minute later in shirt and trousers, pausing to fill a mug with water from the

pitcher on the small table. "Drink this," he said, pressing the edge of the mug to her lips.

The very mundane act of drinking restored her sense of reality. "I saw

what you did,"

she murmured. "I saw everything.”

A muscle in his jaw tensed and relaxed. No denial came. He simply waited, staring into

her eyes with all the grim patience of a natural predator. He looked ferocious enough to

tear her limb from limb, but she was not afraid. Oh, nothing nearly so uncomplicated as

fear.

It was not she who needed reassurance now.

She reached from under the blanket and touched his hand. He clenched it into a fist

under hers.

"I understand why Harry would not tell me what you do in the circus," she said,

gathering her words with care. "I am not shocked, or horrified. I know I am not mad."

The shaking started again, a delayed reaction like the prickling that came to fingers

warmed by the fireside after long exposure to bitter mountain winds. "I will not give your

secret away. You see, I have one of my own." She took a long, deep breath. "I am like

you. I am a werewolf.”

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Cecily Hockensmith gave her name to the secretary in Niall's reception room and waited

to be announced, gazing with appreciation at the tasteful appointments and the original

Bierstadt on the immaculate wall of the office.

Niall had not designed the place, of course. He knew better than to entrust such matters

to his own abilities, when his talents lay in other directions. But his had been the money

behind everything she saw here, and in the house on Fourteenth Street. He owned the

very building in which she stood, and many more in Denver besides. For all its rustic

beginnings, this city might make an acceptable home for a lady who had been a leading

light of New York's elite.

As long as that lady had the right husband, and all his considerable resources at her

command. She had decided when she and her father had arrived, short on cash but

long in ambition, that she would aim for the best. If she could not be comfortable in New

York, she would be fabulously wealthy in Denver.

There was only one thing standing in her path.

She unrolled the poster halfway and looked in distaste at the words and pictures. Her

feelings in this matter were quite genuine, insofar as the circus people were concerned,

and Niall would be as grateful for her efforts on Athena's behalf as he had been in the

past. He was beginning to recognize that Athena needed something other than what he

could provide. Something that might be found far away from Denver.

As long as Athena was the focus of Niall's life, neither one of them could be happy. Nor

could Cecily Ethelinda Hockensmith.

The bronze Dore clock on the marble mantelpiece chimed the hour. Cecily knew where

most of Athena's circle was at the moment—enjoying luncheon in the Windsor's dining

room as they did every Thursday. Athena never joined them, and Cecily had not yet

been invited into the sanctum of Denver's young female society.

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That would come soon enough. Athena had welcomed her into her philanthropic

sisterhood and to her home, but the unfortunate girl had less social influence than she

believed. Cecily had eavesdropped on conversations not intended for her ears, or

Athena's. She suspected that those haughty young ladies, who professed to be

Athena's friends, needed only a nudge to look away from Miss Munroe and toward a

more mature woman of greater sophistication.

"Miss Hockensmith? Mr. Munroe will see you now.”

She nodded at the respectful secretary and followed him into Niall's office. It was not the

first time she had been in the room, but it never failed to take her breath away. No

similar office in New York was more impressive. Or more opulent.

She had learned that Niall did not keep such luxury for himself. He knew the value of

impressing those who came to him seeking financial backing, or potential investors in

his own enterprises. Money begat money. Niall Munroe had Midas's touch and utter

indifference to his own personal comfort.

He rose from behind his leather-topped mahogany desk and bowed slightly. "Miss

Hockensmith. Charmed to see you." He gestured to one of the matched chairs across

from the desk and remained standing where he was. "How may I be of service?”

Cecily took her seat, suppressing a frown. After months of acquaintance, he was still

formal with her. She might even say aloof, but that was insupportable. She could be

patient. And most devoted to her cause.

"I hope I have not inconvenienced you, Mr. Munroe," she said in her most melodious

voice. "I would not have come if I hadn't felt a certain urgency in my errand. Indeed, I

considered carefully before coming to see you.”

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His gray gaze settled on her and slid past. "Please speak freely, Miss Hockensmith. I

am happy to assist you in any way I can.”

He was obviously impatient with her. She got in the way of his business. She knew how

to trouble those still waters and make him take notice. She knew how to take a small,

unimportant thing and make it seem of great consequence.

"Thank you, Mr. Munroe. If you will allow me

" She rose, taking care that her skirts fell

just right, and moved with conscious grace to his desk. "I will be as brief as possible. A

few days ago, while we were visiting Athena at the circus—you may recall?"

"Yes, Miss Hockensmith. It was kind of you to share Athena's enjoyment.”

"It was my pleasure, of course. But while we were there, we received these posters from

the proprietor—Mr. French, I believe? I confess that I had not thought to look at mine

until some time had passed. I am not at all familiar with circuses and the people who

inhabit them, so I had not thought it of importance.”

Niall glanced at the rolled paper she had placed on the desk. "Ah, yes. I remember.”

"You can imagine my distress when I saw the nature of the performance these circus

people intended to give our orphans." She unrolled the poster and used a pair of

weights on Niall's desk to hold down the ends, turning it toward him.

He barely glanced at it. "Miss Hockensmith, I understand the nature of the performance.

I see nothing harmful in a circus.”

Cecily held on to her temper. Men in general could be obtuse, but Niall Munroe was

worst than most. He needed a little more encouragement. "Please read it, Mr. Munroe."

She placed a gloved fingertip near the top of the sheet. "Only look at what they consider

their greatest attraction!”

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He looked. He frowned, and his brows drew down in a way that more than appeased

Cecily's disquiet.

"The Wolf-Man," he murmured. Cecily watched his face as he examined the garish

picture of a creature half-man and half-beast, fanged and slavering, its long nails raking

at the bars of a flimsy-looking cage. " 'The only true beast-man in existence, certified by

the experts in the greatest Halls of Science, acclaimed throughout the nation. Stand

within inches of its ferocious claws. Hear its terrifying growls. See it with your own

eyes

'" He looked up at Cecily. "I saw nothing of this when I was on the lot.

"I have always heard it said that these people excel at deception. This 'Wolf-Man' is not

the only hideous attraction of which they boast. There is the snake woman and her

poisonous serpents, and any number of freakish creatures unfit to be seen by young

children who have no parents to guide them.”

Niall continued to stare at her, the thoughts running swift behind his eyes. Cecily

pressed her advantage.

"That is not my sole concern," she went on. "I realize that Athena hired these people

without being fully aware of their natures. She has made the best of things and her

desire to entertain the children is laudable, but Athena is much too warmhearted to

judge with the cool reason we must sometimes employ to protect what we hold dear. I

must say that I do not feel that circus people are appropriate company for either Athena

or the children.”

Niall locked his hand behind his back and half turned, gazing at the velvet curtains

drawn over the window. "They were to give only one performance.”

"But what damage might be done while they are here? Athena is this very day observing

a rehearsal." She leaned over the desk. "You must see, Mr. Munroe, that I speak only

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out of deepest regard for your sister. I have been in Denver a short while, but in that

time I have observed that Athena's heart has complete control over her head. I fear for