Russell’s eyes narrowed ominously. “Watch your tongue, mitawicu.”
Dorothy bit down on her lower lip, a sudden stab of fear making her tremble. In all their married life, she had never dared talk back to him. Her husband was not only an alpha male, he was an Alpha werewolf, accustomed to being obeyed without question.
“It’s true, isn’t it?” she whispered. “You wish Victor was your son. You love him more than you love your own daughter.”
He didn’t deny it. “I’m going to make some phone calls, see if anyone has heard anything about Kiya.”
Dorothy held her tears in check until he left the room, then she buried her face in her hands and let the tears flow. Not being able to give Russell another son had created a gulf between them that could not be crossed. For Dorothy, it was a pain that had never healed. And yet, in spite of the bitterness between them, she loved him still.
Wiping her eyes on her apron, she let her thoughts drift back in time, remembering how it had been in the beginning… .
She had been walking home from a girlfriend’s house one evening when a large dog attacked her. She had fallen to the ground and curled into a ball, her arms folded over her head, screaming bloody murder, but no one had come to her aid and then, seemingly from out of thin air, a man had appeared. He spoke to the hound in a language Dorothy didn’t understand and the dog had whimpered and run off with its tail between its legs.
“Are you all right?” the man asked.
She had been too scared to speak, too frightened by the blood running down her arms and leg to think coherently.
He had looked undecided for a moment, then swept her into his arms and carried her to the hospital located several blocks away. In the emergency room, she had begged him not to leave her alone, so he had lied to the nurse, saying he was her husband. He had stayed at her side, holding her hand, while they bandaged her arms and stitched the nasty bite in her leg. When they left the hospital, Russell had called for a cab and taken her home.
Dorothy had been afraid she would never see him again, but when the cab pulled to a stop in front of her house, he had surprised her by asking if he could call on her the next night.
They dated for several months and she fell head over heels in love with him. He was tall and dark and in some ways, a total mystery to her. She was fascinated by his Indian heritage, by his bearing, which was almost regal. To her, he seemed like Rhett Butler and Superman all rolled into one.
Things seemed perfect, until she found out she was pregnant. She had been afraid to tell her parents, afraid to tell Russell, but it was a secret she couldn’t hide forever. He wasn’t happy about the pregnancy. Neither was his family—a family she had never met. She had thought it strange that he never took her home to meet his parents—until he did.
Her first thought upon viewing the compound where he lived was that it looked like a prison; later, it became one, at least for her. She learned a lot about Russell that night, including the fact that he was a full-blooded Lakota Indian and that Russell Alissano wasn’t his real name. He had been born Nagin Luta, which meant Red Shadow. The Lakota believed names had power and his tribal name was used only by loved ones and members of the immediate family.
His parents had not made her feel welcome. Russell’s father, Sake Sapa, who went by the name Charles Alissano, insisted she have an abortion immediately. Dorothy had been too afraid of the man to tell him no to his face, but later, when she was alone with Russell, she told him she didn’t want an abortion and that nothing he could say would change her mind.
He didn’t say anything for several, nerve-racking moments.
Fighting back tears, she had waited for him to say he never wanted to see her again. But, once again, he surprised her. Instead of leaving, he had proposed to her. They eloped the next night.
Her parents weren’t pleased.
Russell’s father never forgave him for marrying a white woman.
Dorothy sighed. She had loved her son, she loved her daughter, but sometimes she couldn’t help thinking they would have all been better off if Russell had never come to her aid that fateful night.
* * *
Chapter 8
Kay stood in a corner of the cell, her hands fisted around the bars, staring blankly at the far wall.
Earlier, a man had brought her a covered tray and slid it under the narrow gap between the bottom of the cell door and the floor. When she’d uncovered the tray, she found a roast beef sandwich, a can of root beer, and a bottle of water. She had devoured the sandwich in four bites, drained the can in a few quick swallows, and wished for more.
She had sipped the water throughout the day.
But it wasn’t food or water that occupied her thoughts now. There was only one more night until the full moon. Already, she could feel the change starting within her, the tension, the flutter of anticipation.
In the past, she had gone into the wilderness the night before the change occurred, away from people and civilization, where she was free to run and hunt without fear of discovery.
Her wolf had never been caged up, never been confined in a small space.
In such close quarters, would she feel the need to attack Gideon? Would he have to kill her to defend himself? Which one of them was the stronger? How would she live with herself if she destroyed him?
She turned away from the bars and began to pace the cell. In her wolf form, she had razor-sharp teeth and claws and increased physical strength. Gideon also had sharp teeth and great strength. In addition, she knew he had preternatural powers she lacked, plus he had the ability to read her mind. Would he be able to read her thoughts when she was in her wolf form? If so, that would be a decided disadvantage for her; he would know what she intended to do before she did it.
With a sigh, she sank down on the floor. Hugging her bent knees to her chest, she rested her forehead on her arms and closed her eyes. How lonely the days were with no one to talk to and nothing to do but contemplate an uncertain future. How long the nights were when she sat with Gideon, wondering if every breath would be her last.
Her only hope was that, in her wolf form, she would be strong enough to break down the cell door, defeat the witch, and escape before the unthinkable happened and she killed Gideon. Or he killed her.
She glanced over her shoulder to where he lay sleeping. For the first time, she wondered if she should try to kill him before he killed her. But she couldn’t do it.
She had never killed anyone.
He stirred and she quickly put all such thoughts out of her mind.
But not quick enough.
“I wouldn’t try it if I were you,” he said mildly.