Rule was moving down the aisle now. Lily tapped her pen on her notebook. “It sounds like there’s no reason to assume Steve Hilliard was given gado. Wolfbane would have had the same effect as far as the tattoo goes.”
“Well…yes. Though gado is much more effective. It blocks all of a lupus’s magic, not just the healing, and the effect lasts much longer.”
“But it’s a hell of a lot harder to get hold of or to make.”
“True.”
“Thanks, Nettie. I’ll keep you posted.” Lily disconnected, her lips thin. The tapping picked up pace.
Damn him. He hadn’t lied, no. He’d just led her to believe something that wasn’t entirely true.
Rule had stopped a couple seats up and was signing an autograph for a young woman with tightly kinked orange hair. The stewardess hovered behind him, smiling in an infatuated way. “You’re sure you don’t mind?” she asked, handing him a scrap of paper.
Rule didn’t. He seldom did. His fame—or notoriety—was part of his father’s plan to integrate lupi with human society, and Rule had known he would be the public face for his people long before he met Lily. Before the Supreme Court’s decision made it safe to announce his heritage to the world, in fact.
He made a gorgeous public face. His features were sharp and elegant in a way the camera loved, with dramatic eyebrows and cheekbones. His body wasn’t bad, either, if you went for long, lean, and powerful with the innate grace of an athlete.
Which, from what Lily could see, 99.9 percent of heterosexual women did.
Lily couldn’t see who sat beside the woman with the orange hair, but it was another female, judging by the muffled voice. Rule leaned across the first woman and patted the other one somewhere—her shoulder, probably.
He didn’t look like a man sternly suppressing the beast inside—a wolf who did not like being trapped in a metal cage. He did have some tells, but they were too subtle for even her to spot them unless she was close.
“I don’t suffer from motion sickness myself,” he said, “but Lily usually travels with some candied ginger, just in case. Shall I ask her if she has some?”
Lily heard the woman’s words clearly this time. “Lily? Who’s she?”
Rule smiled. “My beloved.”
He said that naturally, too. Just as if everyone talked that way.
Lily could imagine the woman’s disappointed expression. She’d seen it often enough on other female faces. Even women who weren’t making a serious play for Rule enjoyed thinking they might be able to have him, if they tried. Lupi were notoriously promiscuous.
Except for Rule. Not anymore, that is.
He signed one more autograph, then at last slid into the seat beside Lily with a faint sigh. She caught a faint whiff of the honey and citrus scent of his shampoo. He’d switched recently because she loved citrus scents.
He made it hard to stay mad, dammit.
“Why,” he murmured, “do people troubled by motion sickness feel impelled to tell everyone about their symptoms?”
“Did she want the ginger?”
“No.” He looked at her, his brows drawing together. “You’re upset.”
“What I am, is pissed. You manipulated me.”
His eyebrows snapped down. “What are you talking about?”
“You led me to think gado was probably involved. Wolfbane is a lot more likely, but you never mentioned it. I wouldn’t have cause to investigate the use of wolfbane, would I?”
“I’d just heard that one of my oldest friends was dead. Excuse me for not thinking things through.”
“We’ve been up since four a.m. today. We’ve discussed the case, the circumstances under which I can investigate—the restrictions I’m under.” Croft had told her to avoid calling on other FBI agents unless she could confirm that gado was involved. “You never mentioned the possibility it was wolfbane, not gado, that let someone tattoo Hilliard.”
“Steve,” he said coldly. “His name was Steve.”
She breathed in slowly, choking back her own temper. He was on edge. Grief did that. So did the claustrophobia he didn’t like to admit to.
She couldn’t do much about his grief, but the other…Lily took his hand. That was the one thing that helped, other than moving around. The mate bond brought comfort when they touched—even when she was mad at him. “This matters, Rule,” she said quietly. “If you tricked me into investigating, misusing my authority—”
“No. Maybe. God.” His fingers tightened on hers. For a moment he sat in silence, no doubt putting a lid on his own temper—which, unlike hers, ran cold more often than hot. “I didn’t intentionally misguide you. I didn’t think it out like that, but unconsciously…I suppose I did. I needed you to investigate. It was reflex.”
She’d been sure already, so why did it hurt to have him admit it? Lily swallowed. “Lousy reflex. Long-lasting one, too.”
The tension she hadn’t seen in him earlier was plain now—in his tight jaw, his grip on her hand, his continued silence.
And yet the comfort she’d meant for him reached her, too. That’s how the mate bond worked. She couldn’t touch him without responding—and the response wasn’t always sexual.
It was need the mate bond both created and answered. Need, not trust. Trust was up to them. She’d thought they were further along that road than this. Far enough that his first reflex would not have been to mislead her, even unconsciously. Far enough that he wouldn’t shut her out.
When he spoke, his words came slowly. “The human response to pain is complex—tears, anger, the urge to defend or attack or sleep or find distraction. A wolf’s response is simpler. If a wolf is wounded, he withdraws—physically, if the wound is physical. Emotionally, if it’s not. I have both sets of responses, but when the pain is acute, the wolf’s response dominates.”
“You’re saying this need for privacy is connected to your misleading me.”
“The initial impulse was unhealthy. Wrong. The need for privacy, as you put it, kept me from correcting it.”
“So you need to lick your wounds in private. I can understand that.” She did understand. Her biggest loss had occurred when she was nine. Her best friend had been raped and killed in front of her. She’d never been able to talk out the feelings the way everyone seemed to think she should. Not then, not now. “I’m not much on talky-talky stuff, either.”
“It’s more than being unable to talk about my feelings. It’s distance I need. A distance that hurts you.”
Well, yes, it did. But…“You’ve let me tend you when you were physically hurt. You’ve let Nettie tend you. You know the instinct to withdraw doesn’t work when a wound needs attention.”
Surprise was clear in his voice when he said, “You’re right.”
How could she not smile? “It happens.”
“But I don’t…I don’t know how to do this differently.”
“Maybe you could tell me about him. About Steve.”
“We were age mates. He…that means more, perhaps, with clan children, especially those raised at Clanhome, since we so seldom have siblings close in age. We got in trouble together.” He smiled slightly. His grip on her hand eased. “For several years, he was my partner in crime.”
“What kind of crimes did you commit?”
He spoke of climbing a nearby peak, of an unsupervised trip into the city, of practical jokes that sometimes worked only too well. The first two didn’t surprise her; the practical jokes did.
“He sounds like he had an unlupus-like disrespect for authority.”
“That’s Steve.” He was easy now, his hand relaxed in hers. “Before First Change especially, but even after he became an adult, he enjoyed challenging the status quo.”
“Why didn’t I know him?” she asked softly. Hilliard had lived in a town that bordered Clanhome. If he’d been such a close friend, why hadn’t she met him?
“We…weren’t as close in recent years as we used to be.” After a moment, he added sadly, “He never had children. He wanted them desperately, but he never had children.”