Come the Night

There were no further arguments from him as she ran a bath and left him to soak in the hot water. She retreated to her bedroom and went to the window, staring out at this cold, modern city of steel canyons and seething humanity.

She’d thought herself prepared. She’d thought that she could face Ross in the same way she’d dealt with New York itself: by keeping a firm grip on who she was, where she had come from and why she was here. By reminding herself that what she and Ross had shared had been no more than a few weeks’ passion, that they’d never had anything in common save for their youth and reckless disregard for propriety.

All her careful preparations had disappeared when Ross had arrived at the apartment building with Toby beside him. The image she’d held had been that of a boy only slightly older than she’d been twelve years ago: a handsome young man with striking light brown eyes and hair a few shades darker, unpolished yet undeniably compelling. A young man who’d claimed to love her…just before he admitted that he was only one-quarter werewolf and unable to Change.

That boy was gone. The man who’d stared at her with such accusation might have been another person entirely. He was no longer young; the lines in his forehead and around his eyes testified to a life of conflict, a career spent enforcing the law for the humans whose blood he shared. He was still handsome, but it was a grim sort of attractiveness, touched with bitterness that Gillian dared not examine too closely.

But it was what lay beneath the surface that had startled her most. At the hospital in London he had seemed so completely human that she’d never questioned her initial assumption; even after he’d told her the truth, she’d hardly been able to recognize the wolf within him.

No longer. The life he’d lived since the War had chiseled away at his humanity, revealing the core of his werewolf nature. It gleamed yellow under the brown of his eyes, sculpted the bone and muscle of his face, stalked in his every movement.

Those changes alone would have been enough to shake her equilibrium. But it was something within herself that had stripped her of her defenses, something she couldn’t possibly have anticipated that struck at her with all the force of a hurricane.

Gillian pressed her forehead to the cool window glass. Years had passed—years of dedication to duty, to her father, to her son. It should not even be possible for her to still desire a man she had known for only a handful of weeks amid the chaos of war, a man who could never become her mate. She had almost forgotten what it was to feel that kind of excitement, that kind of pleasure. Such things had no place in the life of a sequestered widow, and she had accepted that they would have no part in her forthcoming marriage.

Why, then, had this happened now? Was it her punishment for refusing to recognize Toby’s incipient rebellion, for neglecting to meet needs she hadn’t understood? Or was it a gift in disguise, a reminder that she must never let down her guard, never for a moment surrender to her own natural weakness?

She had felt weak in Ross’s presence. Weak and vulnerable. But he would never know it. She would make certain of that. She would take Toby home as quickly as possible. And then…

“Gilly?”

Hugh’s voice held a note of concern that reminded her how long she’d been gone. She answered her brother’s tap on the bedroom door with a calm that was almost sincere.

“I’m sorry, Hugh,” she said. “Give me a few more moments to put Toby to bed, then I’ll join you.”

“You’d better,” Hugh said. “Kavanagh isn’t much for small talk, and I don’t want to be the one giving all the explanations.”

Explanations. Was that what Ross wanted of her? The strength of his anger had been almost overwhelming, all the more effective for its quietness; she could well envision criminals quailing before him, begging to confess rather than face that simmering stare.

She returned to the bathroom to find Toby dozing in the cooling water. She woke him, left him to towel himself dry and then steered him into his room.

“Is Father still here?” he asked sleepily, hovering near the door.

“Mr. Kavanagh is with Hugh at the moment. But you are to sleep now, young man. You’ve had quite enough adventure for one day. We shall have a good long talk about this later.”

Ordinarily Toby might have been concerned about his inevitable punishment, but his mind was on other subjects. “I’ll see Father tomorrow, won’t I?”

Toby had been this way since he could talk: direct, fearless and frightfully stubborn. Gillian had simply failed to realize—had not let herself realize—how much he would be like the man who had sired him.

She had only lied to him once, and the unfortunate results of that deception were plain to see.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Mr. Kavanagh and I have not spoken in many years.”

“Because you didn’t tell him about me.”

“I shall make my decisions based upon your welfare and nothing else.”

Toby glared at her, jaw set. That expression had been all too common of late; he was poised on that terrible brink between boy and man, cub and wolf. Gillian could feel him beginning to slip out of her grasp, and she wasn’t ready to let him go.

There is no need to rush. He will Change when the time is right. He will Change…

She shook off her pointless worries and herded him toward the bed. “Go to sleep, Toby,” she said. “I will inform you of my decision in the morning.”

“But if you—”

“Sleep.”

He crawled into bed, defying her with every movement of his rapidly growing body. She waited until he’d tucked himself in and then switched off the bedroom light.

There was no delaying the inevitable. She smoothed her skirt, made sure that her chignon was still in place and walked back to the sitting room.

Hugh was standing by the mantelpiece, a drink in his hand and his shoulders hunched. Ross hovered a few feet away, arms held loosely at his sides, as if he might spring into action at any moment. His head swung toward Gillian as she entered the room; the impact of his stare almost broke the measured rhythm of her stride.

She didn’t stop until she had reached the sofa. “Won’t you be seated, Mr. Kavanagh?” she asked.

“I prefer to stand, Mrs. Delvaux.”

“As you wish.” She glanced at Hugh. He looked deeply uncomfortable, and she had no desire to inflict the coming unpleasantness on someone who’d had no part in creating it.

“The evening is very mild, Hugh,” she said. “We’ve had little opportunity to see the city. Perhaps you’d enjoy a walk.”

Hugh shifted from foot to foot and looked from her to Ross. “I’d rather stay, if you don’t mind,” he said.

Gillian’s heart turned over. She’d always understood that Hugh needed protecting, even though he was Father’s favorite. He was good-natured to a fault, but foolish and feckless; the more formidable wolf characteristics Sir Averil had done so much to encourage were almost never in evidence behind that ready grin. But now he was prepared to give up his own comfort in defense of his sister, and Gillian loved him the more for it.

“You’d better beat it, kid,” Ross growled. “This is between me and the lady.”

The way he said “lady” was clearly not meant as a compliment. Hugh’s head sank a little lower between his shoulders.

“Since the subject under discussion involves my nephew,” he said, “it also concerns me.”

Ross gave Hugh a long, appraising look. He made a rumbling sound deep in his throat; his lips stretched to show the tips of his upper teeth. Quarter werewolf or not, he dominated Hugh as easily as a collie does a sheep.

“I’m sure your sister will fill you in,” he said. “Make yourself scarce, and we won’t have any arguments.”

Hugh’s face revealed the progress of his thoughts. He passed quickly from anger and indignation to uncertainty and, finally, resignation.

“All right,” he said, making an attempt at severity, “but if you need me, Gilly, I won’t be far.”

He gave a little jerk to his tie, spun around and walked through the door, trailing a wake of wounded dignity behind him.

“Hugh doesn’t deserve your scorn,” Gillian said once Hugh had closed the door. “He was a child when you and I knew each other.”

Ross shrugged. “I have nothing against him.” He glanced toward the hall. “Is the boy asleep?”

“He will be presently.”

“Then we can speak freely.”