… one moment of fluid grace …
… brought down by a muzzle flash so bright it blinds.
He fal s, pul ed from midair with a grunt and a spatter of blood, never to rise again. The copper wolf noses the limp body of her mate, a whimper tearing at her throat. Rage empowering her, she leaps, wil ing to fal dead at his side, her husband.…
Her heart.
A muzzle flash tears at the inky night again and she tumbles to the earth, fal ing limp.
Silent.
Stil .
CHAPTER ONE
NOW
“So, after the loss of your mother in the car accident, you started work to redeem her amnesiac murderer, met a new boy at school, who you hid your attraction from in order to protect a friend’s feelings.
Then you learned the boy was being hunted by the CIA—one of their agents who happens to be trying to date your dad … hunted because the boy’s a werewolf.”
There was a long pause. I ran over her summary, mental y ticking off the checklist of the bizarre that my life had so recently been reduced to. “You forgot about the Russian Mafia’s involvement and the shootout we were in.”
Looking at her clipboard, Dr. Jones replied, “Yes. So I did.” She jotted something down. “Wel . It looks like our time is up.” She clicked her pen and set it down definitively on her broad ebony desk. “Your story is absolutely fascinating.” She confirmed what I knew too wel . “But.”
I sat up, the leather couch creaking beneath me. I gave her my best but what? look. I’d talked forever.
As much as I hated to admit it, the school counselors were right. It felt great to get it al out and tel an objective professional. So I waited, looking at her expectantly. She could surely say more than but after al I’d confessed.
“But, if you real y want to get past the trauma of your mother’s death—which is truly the crux of your situation—you’l need to get real here.” She stood, lips twisting.
Get real? I had told her everything. I had risked the Rusakovas to save my own crumbling sense of sanity.
I couldn’t help it. I laughed so hard I snorted.
In the two months since I’d met Pietr Rusakova I could number on one hand the times I’d told the truth.
The lies? The phrase totally out of hand had special meaning when trying to keep track of them.
But to final y try and straighten things out and be shut down? Not what I expected.
She blinked at me. “Seriously, Jessica. Russian Mafia? Government agents? Werewolves? ” She laughed. “I should be like other psychiatrists, I guess, and blindly prescribe something with an exciting new name. But I want to help you get better, not medicate you. I want you to get a grip.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“It’s my professional opinion that you’re screwing with me. Most kids clam up on their first visit or avoid the heart of their issues. But you”—she glanced at the clipboard—“are an editor for the school newspaper. Surely inventive. So you chose the other route, exhibiting a commendable streak of creativity.
newspaper. Surely inventive. So you chose the other route, exhibiting a commendable streak of creativity.
But I have a high crap tolerance.”
Her voice lowered and she ruffled the corners of her freshly written notes. “You have to, working with kids,” she muttered. “You’re no more delusional than the average teenager.”
“I kil ed a man.” God, for al the notes she seemed to take, did she not listen?
“Yes, Jessica, so you said. But where’s the body, sweetie? I’d expect some part of the aftermath of a bloodbath like you described to be seen by someone. Why wasn’t there anything in the papers?”
“I told you before. The agents cal ed in a—” I chewed my lower lip. Why wouldn’t the right words come when I needed them? “A cleaning crew.”
“Yes, the agents.” She made quotes in the air with a twitch of her fingers. “Including”—she flipped through the papers on her clipboard until she found it—“Wanda the librarian.”
“No one gives librarians the credit they deserve,” I snapped. “Yes. She works in the reference department and is a gun-toting government agent.”
“Of course,” Dr. Jones said, stil smiling. “So. Creative, and probably with a large number of overdue books causing you to be creatively suspicious about librarians. Interesting.”
I had no idea what else to say. I’d surely said it al .
“Anyway. It’s your insurance coverage. You decide if you want to waste it on fantasies.”
She turned away to look out the window—a clear dismissal. I stood, slung my purse over my shoulder, and headed out the door, as confused as when I’d first arrived.
I’d decided to adjust to my new normal. Regular counseling. A life with no mother. No more shoot-outs with the Russian Mafia. Nearly no CIA presence. And a werewolf sort-of-boyfriend who was also stil seeing my not-quite-stable friend Sarah because we hoped to avoid triggering her return to absolute psychosis.
Okay, so my new normal wasn’t nearly normal by other people’s standards, but it was the best I could do.
I was back to horse riding and farm chores and trying to keep up with my classes and working on the school newspaper.
I stil had my friends. Amy had my back, and Sophia, wel , she was hanging around enough that I knew she cared—or was fascinated by the tragedy that seemed to continual y wash over me. And there was Sarah—beautiful y angelic and with so little of her original memory she was almost safe to be around.
I hoped.
Derek (the star of our footbal team) shadowed me now, too, frequently appearing and smiling at me in a way that made my heart race. I’d had a crush of Titanic (and I do mean like the ship that nailed the iceberg) proportions on him. For years.
Wel , until Pietr showed up and everything changed.
Anyhow, my new normal should have been a good thing. Not perfect, but acceptable. Nearly sane.
In the nonthreatening beige waiting room people hid behind newspapers and magazines so old their readers were learning history—not catching up on current events.
Al but one.
Catherine Rusakova waved to me and rose, fol owing me out the door. Normal y as unnoticed as a shadow slipping across shade, she was also impossible not to notice when she wanted.
Like now.
The office door clicked shut behind me. “Hi, Cat.” I wasn’t sure how to proceed. I wasn’t used to being stalked by Pietr’s twin sister. Werewolf number two.