Claimed (The Lair of the Wolven 1)

“Am I? I don’t think so.” Lydia leaned in. “Did you get some of those millions of dollars? And then want more? Was he in your way?”

“I have a three-bedroom house and a cat. What the hell am I going to do with that kind of money.”

“You tell me, Candy.”

“Why should I bother.” The woman wrapped her arms over her chest and set her chin. “You seem to have made up a better life story for me than I could have. The fact that it has absolutely nothing in common with anything I’ve done or even thought about no doubt doesn’t bother you. Fiction is just too much fucking fun for people, isn’t it. So, yeah, I’ve got nothing to add to your fantasy, sorry.”

Candy looked down the hall, out to the waiting room. “But you are right about one thing. It has been two years since I’ve had a day off. You want to know why? It’s not because I’m committing some kind of embezzlement. It’s because this place is all I have, and while that makes me lame, it doesn’t make me a criminal—or a murderer—thank you very much. So I’m taking the rest of what’s left of today off, and when I come in here tomorrow morning, we’re going to forget you ever said this shit to me. Or, if you want, call Eastwind. Have him come over to my house with some handcuffs and cart me off to jail. G’head. Let’s see how far that goes, shall we? Anyway, have a good fucking evening. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The older woman turned away. Walked away.

In her wake, Lydia stayed where she was as there was a rustling out in the waiting area, like Candy was putting on her coat and collecting her purse. Then the door opened and shut.

Heading back around her desk, Lydia went to the window, separated the blinds, and watched Candy back her car out and drive off down the gravel lane.

I’m never going to see her again, Lydia thought.

Hard to know if the portent was good news or bad.

“Shit,” she said in the utter silence of the building.

Collapsing into her chair, she propped her head on her hand and remembered when she had first walked into the WSP. It had been for her interview with Peter, and she could vividly recall stepping out of the winter cold and into the warmth of the waiting room. Candy had looked up from her desk and started talking, just as the woman always did.

As if they had been carrying on a conversation. For years.

Back then, Peter had been in his office every day, and Rick had been working in the clinic, and she had been full of excitement about her new job.

After so many years of feeling groundless, of being groundless, after her grandfather’s death, she had thought, yes, finally.

Roots.

From which to grow.

But now, here she was. Alone—

The door out front opened, and footfalls came down the hallway, slow and heavy.

As she looked up, her breath caught even though she knew who it was. Hell, no doubt it was because she’d recognized the stride: Daniel’s face was tanned from his time out on the preserve, and his hair was smooth from having been stroked by the wind as he had raced along the trails. Likewise, his clothes were marked with river mud that had dried into dirt.

She didn’t give him a chance to speak.

Lydia sprung up and raced for him, throwing her arms around his neck as she launched herself against his powerful chest.

“Oh, God … ,” she croaked. “I am so glad you’re here.”

IN RESPONSE TO Lydia’s hard embrace, Daniel put his arms around her stiffly. At first. But as she sank into him and shuddered, he closed his eyes and nestled her in under his chin.

“What happened?” he said, aware that he had a report he should make of his own.

But could not.

“I just … I think it’s all hitting me now.” She pulled back. “Everyone is gone. Peter. Rick. Now Candy. They’re all gone—but you’re here. Thank God.”

As she stared up at him, he intended to speak … except he found that he’d lost his voice. Her eyes were just so hypnotic, ringed with tears, glowing with emotion. All he wanted to do was protect her from hurt. From harm.

Sweeping his hand over her hair, he rested his forehead on her own. “Lydia.”

Her name was a preamble to words that he ultimately couldn’t say: They stayed there in silence for what seemed an eternity, their bodies creating a collective warmth, their souls melding. Meanwhile, all around them, whirling fates that were only hinted at were like a ring of fire closing in on their future.

On their present.

But they had this moment. And if pricelessness was based on rarity, then this quiet instant was invaluable—because he knew that it wasn’t going to happen again.