Shadow of the Wolf

His gaze darted to her neck and, with a wince, his expression relaxed into something akin to … sorrow? “We are destined to be together, but you aren’t ready yet to accept that yet.” He took a step back, giving her room to breathe. He shook himself all over and visibly relaxed. “All right, Lana. There are other things we need to discuss anyway.”

We’re ready! We’re ready! The butterflies were back in force and wailing up a storm. Lana did her best to ignore them. “Like?”

“Like the fact that you’ll be staying here until I know exactly what Cole is up to.”

Dream on, Wolfman. “Pffft. Yeah, right.”

He blinked, shocked. “Excuse me?”

“I have a life in Philadelphia, and spell or no spell, I’m not moving in with a man I met last night. Sorry, but if you ordered a wife in twenty minutes or less then you dialed the wrong number.”

“He threatened your life.”

“Yes, he did. And I know just how to handle it, too.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes. Really.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “How?”

“Grammy.”

His head tilted to the side, just like the wolf’s had the night before. “Grammy?”

“Annabelle Evans.”

The frown lightened. “Oh. Grammy.” He took a deep breath. “Still, I’d prefer it if you remained here.”

“I wouldn’t.” She looked around the workroom. “You have a phone in here?”

“Alannah.”

“I need to go home, Chris.”

“You are home.”

“No. I’m in your home. I need my people around me, my things, my protections.”

“Why?”

Poor guy. He sounds so frustrated. Still, she wasn’t about to back down on this one.

If he thought he’d get his way every single time, they’d have a horrible time of it.

She tried to ignore the little voice that quivered inside her, pointing out how she’d just accepted what he’d been telling her all along. No way was she ready to deal with it yet. “Witches and wizards, remember? I need to know what’s being done to defend me.”

He had the nerve to look offended. “You’ll have me to defend you.”

“And since you’re a wizard I’ll understand very little of what you’re doing. Defend me all you like, but I’ll be in Philadelphia while you do it.”

His eyes narrowed. “Compromise?”

She stepped back warily. “What kind of compromise?”

“You want to go to Philadelphia, where your family can protect you?”

“Yes,” she drawled, wondering what the catch was.

“Then Philadelphia it is, where your family will protect you.” And he gave her a smug male smile that raised every hair on the back of her neck.

Lana groaned. “Why do I have the feeling I just lost?”

* * *

Christopher shut the hood of Lana’s car and smiled. It was truly and sincerely dead.

From the looks of it, the funeral was long overdue, too. “Sorry, I don’t believe I can fix it.”

“Damn.” She bit the tip of her finger. He gave in to the urge to pull it from her mouth and kiss the small hurt. “Anywhere around here I can have it towed?”

“Leave it. I’ll call my brothers and have them deal with it.”

She stared at him.

“All right. You call my brothers and have them deal with it.” He could tell she was still trying to stare him down, but it wasn’t working. She wasn’t going to get her way all the time, or they’d have an awful relationship. He handed her his cell phone and placed his hand at the small of her back. “Call Gareth, he’s the eldest. Speed dial three.” He began to guide her back to his SUV, the sleek black Equinox looking completely out of place next to her old, battered beige Volkswagen. “He’ll make sure your, um, car is taken care of.”

She glared at him and dialed the phone. He knew the exact moment when Gareth’s voice mail came on. He’d helped his brother record it, after all. “Hello, you’ve reached Gareth Beckett. If this is important, then you know how to reach me. If it’s not important, don’t bother leaving a message.” Beep.

Lana blinked. “Uh, hi. This is Alannah Evans. Um, your really weird brother has kidnapped me and he wants me to ask you to deal with my broken-down car. I totally understand if you want to call the cops and tell them where I’m at, which right now would be in Christopher’s black Equinox heading towards Philadelphia, Pennsylvania license plate number six one five… Damn, it hung up.”

He snorted, amused. “I did not kidnap you.”

“What would you call it?”

“Giving my fiancee a ride to her grandmother’s house.” Whether she liked it or not, she was his. The sex in his workroom just confirmed it for him, but until she accepted it, the spell would remain incomplete.

“Will you stop with the fiancee stuff?”

He smiled. “All right … mate.”

He laughed, delighted, when she snarled at him. She waved her finger at him. “I still haven’t accepted that, you know.”

“You will, sweetheart.”

She ignored him, turning on the radio and staring out the window.

It was a two hour drive from his house to Philadelphia, and almost all of it was spent in silence, listening to the radio. It wasn’t until they were on the outskirts of the city that she spoke again, giving him quiet directions to a section of the city known locally as South Philly. The brick row houses were well maintained, with wide steps or pretty brick front porches with metal railings. The occasional tree had been planted in perfect holes cut into the pavement, then surrounded by decorative bricks. The neighborhood had a very homey feel to it despite the fact that, not that far away, several stadiums had been built for the major league sports teams.

The only problem he had was the old trolley tracks that slicked up the road. He found himself driving more to the left than he was really comfortable with. “Why don’t they cover those?”

“Cover what?”

He gestured out the front windshield. “The trolley tracks.”

She looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “They’re a historical monument. Look up.” He did, seeing the wires criss-crossing the road. “Those lines are trolley lines, still intact. These tracks are some of the oldest in the United States. You put a trolley down and it could still run all over Philly. Well, most of Philly.” She waved her hand. “No way would we cover those up.”

“Oh. So you have a trolley system like San Francisco?”

“Pfft. No, not like San Francisco. We don’t have any trolley cars.”

He blinked. “Tracks and lines, but no cars?”

She rolled her eyes. “Politics are a bitch. The cars were supposed to be put into use, but things keep getting in the way.” She shrugged and pointed. “Turn left here.”

He blinked, confused, but turned anyway.

“Okay, find a place to park.”

He looked around. Half the potential spots had a handicapped sign right next to them. The other half were all taken. “You’re kidding, right?”

She smirked. “Just keep looking.”

He eventually found a spot three blocks from where she’d told him to keep looking.

They got out and began walking. “Okay, we’re close to Oregon Avenue, which means lots of good food, some decent grocery stores, and access to most of Philly. Front Street leads to I-95, so that’s not too far away, and Broad