Winter Howl (Sanctuary) (39 page)

Chapter Fourteen

When Renee came down, she was wearing sweats and had her wet hair back in a ponytail. She wrapped a quilt around her shoulders and waited for Detective Ebon to come to her as she sat down in an armchair. Britt did not crowd her—she sat on a nearby sofa, willing to be there for Renee if needed.

Ebon came over and sat down in the armchair across from her. It was some distance, but Renee was fine with that. The other shapeshifters must have been taken elsewhere, because she, Britt and Ebon were alone in the living room.

Renee noted that Ebon looked a little pale.

“Miss Chambers, I’ll say first that I think you are telling the truth…to a point. And I have a sneaking suspicion that you know what that point is.”

Renee just waited.

“The evidence doesn’t add up. There is no way that the wounds on your shoulder were made by human teeth, and the animals were mauled with animal teeth as well. Same with the wounds on Josh Beall and your friend Malcolm Delancy. Yet there is evidence of blood and skin underneath Mr Heath’s nails, and there is blood and flesh in his mouth. There is no way it could have been placed there. Then there is this.”

Detective Ebon pulled an evidence bag with the silver, bloodstained knife inside.

“This is not an ordinary knife, is it?” he said.

Renee shook her head but did not elaborate.

“See, the ME says that the gunshot wound to Mr Heath’s chest might have been a killing blow, or at least a stunning one. But it did not kill him, you say?”

She shook her head again.

“Stabbing him with this killed him.”

Renee nodded.

“And how did Mr Heath make the marks of a larger animal with sharper teeth?”

She looked directly at Ebon. “How would I know?”

Ebon turned a little paler, and he put the knife back in his coat. “Yes, well, the rest of your people are corroborating your statement, and most of the details of the attacks seem covered. I suppose we’ll have to put the rest down to mystery. It sometimes happens.”

He put his hands on the arms of the chair and pushed himself standing with a grunt. “Good evening, Ms Chambers. I’ll have to talk with the assistant district attorney, but I hope we never see each other again.” He headed towards the door, his walk brisk with his strong desire to leave as soon as possible. But he stopped at the door and turned around, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Ms Chambers,” he said, “is this knife made of silver, by any chance?”

Renee turned away from him and stared into the fire. “Yes,” she answered. “Sterling.”

She heard the distinct click of his dry throat as he swallowed. “Well…” His voice drifted off, and he closed the door behind him.

There was quiet, and Britt and Renee sat there, waiting for the tension in the room to dissolve. When Renee’s eyes began drooping from exhaustion, Britt slid closer.

“Are you ready to sleep?”

Renee had not known whether she would even be able to close her eyes tonight, but now she knew she could. She nodded, and Britt led her up to the loft and into Britt’s bed. Renee kept her quilt around her, but she loosened it a little as Britt changed into warm pyjamas and joined her in bed, then wrapped her arms around Renee and held her close.

Renee began drifting almost immediately, surrounded by warmth that smelt of cotton, skin, and Britt’s shampoo. Jake joined them later, and Renee jerked awake briefly as his weight shifted the bed and made the mattress springs creak, but his strong, warm hand on her hip only reassured her, and she slipped easily back into sleep.

* * * *

When she woke up, she, Britt and Jake were still wrapped together. Renee could not believe that they could go downstairs and there would be no Grant. It was too early for her to know how that felt, whether she missed him or felt guilt or regret or relief. Maybe she would never resolve that contradictory tangle of emotions. She pressed herself closer to Britt and waited for them to wake up, too.

The first sign that Britt was awake was when she kissed the top of Renee’s head. Renee looked up and into the dark pools of Britt’s eyes, there in the shadows of the loft. Then she stretched herself up to kiss Britt tentatively, as though unsure whether Britt could be there with her without Grant pulling her in the other direction. It was morning, and their breath was ripe, their faces a little oily, and their hair was a mess, but Renee did not care. She deepened the kiss, pushing thoughts of Grant away. She would not let him force his way into her life now that he was gone. Not between her and Britt.

Britt met Renee’s kiss, pulling up Renee’s shirt. Renee gasped, her arousal building languidly. She needed this. Just this—knowing that they were alive, together and unbitten.

Britt crept her fingers under Renee’s pants and began to press and rub above Renee’s clit, drawing that arousal into a more urgent pitch. Renee returned the favour, pushing Britt’s pants down her thighs and bringing her hand down until their fingers worked in tandem, their wrists bumping against each other awkwardly, but they did not want to stop. They did not care if it was awkward. They just wanted to feel each other, reassuring one another.

Their coming was quiet—a few bucks, a whimper, and the sweet sound of tongue on tongue, then tongue on flesh as Renee licked Britt’s neck.

“I can be what you need,” Britt whispered. “Anything you need. Anything you want. And what I can’t give you, Jake can learn.”

They both looked behind Britt, where Jake was still fast asleep.

“Okay?” Britt added. “All you need to do is ask.”

Renee stroked Britt’s hair. “Here’s what I need,” she said quietly, slowly. “Don’t always wait for me to ask.”

* * * *

It took two weeks before the bits and pieces of Grant’s influence on the sanctuary were cleaned away, with the exception of Malcolm. Ki and Max were beside themselves at the way that Malcolm shut himself away in a room, ran the woods in his bare feet and human skin, the way his personal energy seemed to hum with anger and resentment and something he could not even describe. They all knew what it was—it was the werewolf in him. He dared not change in case he became the wolf, but the shapeshifters who knew him less began to avoid him because of his smell, and so did the dogs in the sanctuary once they stopped barking at him and learned that he was not a threat in spite of the scent of danger. All of those dogs had been his life—he had known every single one of them, and now he couldn’t go near them.

Renee wanted to stop him, wanted to tell him that it was okay that he was what he was, but she was not sure how to broach the subject without him snapping her head off. After all, she was responsible for what he was. All she could manage was a short exchange in the greenhouse when he came back from a run. His feet were bloody and covered in dirt. A few weeks ago, his toes would have been blue, but she could feel his heat as he passed by her. He was as hot-blooded as Grant had been.

“Malcolm,” she called before he went into the kitchen.

He would not turn around, but he stopped, the muscles under his white, worn undershirt tensing.

“You are still welcome here,” Renee said. “I hope you realise that that’s not even a question.”

Malcolm gripped the door frame. Renee could hear the wood grain crunch slightly.

“Yes,” Malcolm replied. “I know this sanctuary is welcome to werewolves.” The blame was pointed, and Renee ducked her head as Malcolm went into the house.

Ki came to her a few days later with her own concerns. “He’s not just mad at you,” Ki explained. “I hope you know that. And he shouldn’t be mad at you to begin with. He’s frustrated with himself. His nature has changed, and he needs to be the wolf but doesn’t know whether he can control it. He doesn’t want to deal with the change. I’ve told him over and over again that we still want him, but…he’s ashamed. He doesn’t know where to go if he can’t stay here.”

“He can. I told him that I wouldn’t think of turning him out,” Renee interjected.

“I know you wouldn’t. I mean, you wouldn’t turn Grant out until you knew he was a threat to us,” Ki said. Renee wondered whether Ki really believed that or whether she just knew that Renee had done it all with the best of intentions, as most roads to hell went. “But he doesn’t know where he belongs anymore. He doesn’t want to be with other werewolves, not with the way we are about them. He wants to become his canine form again, but he can’t. He wants to stay, but he’s not sure he should. And I don’t know how to fix things. Not between him and Max, and not between him and me.”

Renee could not give her anything. She was just as lost as the rest of them. All they could do was let Malcolm make his choice in his own time. Only he could figure out what was best for him.

* * * *

After enough time passed, things surprisingly went back to as close to normal as they were before Grant had come. Four weeks after the attack, Renee got a voicemail from Detective Ebon that no charges were being brought against her, which Renee had expected, but hearing it was still a relief. Following another trip into town, Britt told Renee that she thought Renee had got a little better in crowds, if even quieter than usual.

Renee wanted to tell Britt that it helped that the town knew she had killed a man, but she did not think it was prudent to add that some of them probably believed she had killed both Grant and Josh in cold blood, during a psychotic break. She was more than just an eccentricity now.

Those who knew her better than a stranger, like Marie at the bar, knew it was complete bullshit that she would kill anyone for reasons beyond self-defence, and they welcomed her into their places of business without question and defended her to the rest.

Still, because of the rumours and the little exhibitionist show she had put on when Grant had brought her to town, Renee felt that the walls did not close in so much, and that the people—just ordinary people who might or might not stare at her—were not a threat. Not in comparison to what she’d had to face. In the end, Grant was dead and she was the one still alive. That resonated with her, and she reminded herself of it every time she felt she couldn’t take the eyes on her or the crowds around her.

Things were not perfect. She still wanted Britt with her when she went into town, but she found that she did not endure full-on panic attacks anymore. Strong anxiety on occasion, but even that was beginning to be manageable.

Britt.
When they were at the sanctuary, Britt began pushing Renee, just like Grant had done. But Renee knew she could trust Britt completely, with anything and everything. And it did help her. Not to mention that the sex was great, occasionally rough, sometimes more so than Britt was expecting. But even when Renee was bruised and scratched, and Britt not looking much better, the sex was more than satisfying. With enough coaxing, Jake, too, learned that he could squeeze Renee’s wrists without breaking them. However, mostly Renee just stayed with Britt.

As spring began to thaw the earth, all of them—even Malcolm, in one of his rare moments of wanting to be a part of the old crowd—were sitting down to a meal when they heard a vehicle crunching its way up the driveway. Renee and Leslie looked at each other. They had not heard the gate bell ring. Either the gate was broken and open, or someone had broken in without setting off the alarm.

Renee wiped her mouth with her napkin, her brow furrowed, and threw her legs over the bench to see who could possibly be coming. Since dinner was mostly over and the rest of them were curious, they followed her out.

It was an old, rusty, pinkish pick-up. Renee thought it looked oddly familiar.

She recognised it when the woman driving came into view. The truck stopped near Renee’s, and the woman got out.

“Sorry I had to open the gates on my own,” Kelly said. Her blonde hair was braided, and most of her tattoos were covered with surprisingly conservative clothes. She had good, almost vintage taste. If it had not been for the tattoos that were still visible, Renee might have thought she worked in an office.

“Did you close them behind you?” Renee asked. She stroked the head of the medium-sized mutt next to her in reassurance. The dogs who would usually rush upon any car that came into the compound were watching the woman from a distance, but strangely, they didn’t bark.

“Yes, don’t worry.” Kelly shut the truck door, then took a look at the shapeshifter pack behind Renee, who were watching her warily, having recognised what she was the minute her scent had reached them. Her gaze stopped on Malcolm, whose brown eyes had locked on her. He knew. And she knew. Her expression turned to one of distress.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I heard he was dead, and I… David was thrilled, you see,” Kelly said, turning to Renee. “I thought he might have turned you already. David said to bring you back with me, that they could use another bitch, especially if that bitch had killed Grant. I told him that you might not want to come. He told me to force you.

“And I killed him.” Kelly’s light eyes were pale and hard. Her face, usually soft, became angular as she almost transformed in anger. “He never knew. He always enjoyed the change. And I knew that you wouldn’t, that you would be miserable in our pack. I saw it in a dream. I knew I would have to kill him eventually. The alphas always need to change.