The Keeping(123)

Melody’s scent surrounded him the minute he stepped inside. He paused and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. A low rumble emitted from his chest as the delicious smell filled his nostrils and nourished his spirit. His wolf stirred with excitement. The female! Where is she?

I don’t know where she is, he answered himself, just be quiet. He peeked in the bedroom and bathroom, noting that Lucy had obviously been there at one point, her scattered clothing, as well as her scent betraying her presence. A few papers were scattered on the kitchen counter and he flipped through them. Mostly junk mail, a few bills, nothing of importance, but...ah ha! On a nearby table, her laptop was open and still on. He sat down in front of the machine and checked the start menu for recent activity.

His name leapt off the screen, as did a certain picture file, which he knew he’d deleted. Why that little bitch! She’d somehow managed to get more copies of his pictures. Anger flared as he moved the mouse to open the file with his name on it. Quickly he scanned the document, amazed at how much she’d managed to piece together. The more he read, the more he scowled and by time he reached the final paragraphs, he was ready to hurl the machine across the room. There it was in black and white. She knew he’d taken the pictures in Oregon.

Ryne felt the colour drain from his face. How many connections and assumptions had her agile brain come up with? If she knew about Oregon, did she know about Kane? Did she know that the wolf in the picture was actually a werewolf? And was she, at this moment, off telling her boss, Aldrich, that not only was Ryne Taylor a werewolf, but that a whole pack resided in Smythston? His mind filled with images; hordes of scientists and TV crews, men with tranquillizers and guns, gawkers and protestors, all descending on Kane’s pack.

They’d surround the territory; breach the perimeter, possibly wondering why there was no resistance. The invaders would approach the deathly quiet houses, cautiously entering, only to find bodies. Dead bodies. Strewn about the house. In the bedrooms. In the kitchen. In the games room where the pack used to gather... Cold lifeless bodies that would stare with unseeing eyes at the invaders who had unknowingly precipitated the massacre.

All identifying papers would have been destroyed. Kane would see to that. The nameless corpses would be studied to no avail and then buried in unmarked graves, their identities forever lost amid the swirl of rumours that would arise. Words such as cult, brainwashing, and mass suicide would be bandied about. Pictures and stories would be plastered in newspapers and magazines, across TV and computer screens around the world...

Ryne’s mind focused on one image; Kane and Elise lying dead in each other’s arms, their hands on the small mound that would have been their first born. He shook his head. Surely Kane wouldn’t allow Elise to stay; he’d send her away...yet would she go? Not likely. Elise was devoted to her mate. She’d refuse to leave.

A feeling of fury and terror such as he’d never known washed over Ryne. This was all Melody’s fault and he’d make sure she would pay. Pay for each life that was lost, each pup left orphaned. When his wolf howled in protest, he ruthlessly crushed it. He was icy cold, his mouth dry. His brain could barely function. Feeling detached from his body, he watched as his hand reached for the phone, dialled a familiar number and brought the receiver up to his ear. His lips barely responded to his command to speak.

“Kane? Start the dispersal.”





Chapter 32





After speaking with Kane, Ryne had searched Melody’s computer, ruthlessly deleting information. When he came upon Aldrich’s address and the name Greyson Inc., he made note of it before erasing the rest of the relevant files. Melody was probably with her co-conspirator at this very moment. With any luck he’d catch them together. He would deal with both of them at the same time. Filled with ruthless determination, he pushed away from the computer, wiping his prints from the keys before exiting her apartment. In a similar manner, he cleaned the door handle, just in case. His finger prints weren’t on file anywhere, but you could never be too careful.

Should anyone have cared, it was a reasonable pleasant day for early spring. The sun was shining, pollution levels were low, and the noise—for a large city at least—was moderate. A gentle breeze was drifting down the street. As he stepped outside of the apartment building, Ryne froze and sniffed the air. Melody! She was nearby. He stepped back into the shadows of the doorway and searched the street for her. There she was, about half a block away, walking quickly towards his location.

Making a split-second decision, Ryne decided to let her come to him. If he confronted her on the street, a passer-by might notice, but the building’s foyer was relatively more private. He strongly suspected that her neighbours were not members of the Good Samaritan club and would probably turn a blind eye to anything that happened rather than getting involved. In other circumstances, he might have found such callousness disturbing, but right now it worked in well with his plans.