“What are you talking about? I said I haven’t been in the house. If something is missing, I didn’t take it. Williams said there was a caretaker. Maybe—”

Tamara holds up a hand and laughs. “I don’t think a caretaker arranged this.”

“Arranged what?”

She turns her back on me and opens the door. “Arranged to have Avery’s vineyard in France transferred to your parents,” she says. “Avery is very angry about that.”

CHAPTER 61

TAMARA IS WALKING AHEAD OF ME, INTO THE house. My own feet are rooted to the spot. It never occurred to me that the vineyard my parents “inherited” was Avery’s. I didn’t even remember before this moment that he owned one. How the hell was it possible that his winery ended up with my parents? Who could have made such a thing happen?

As soon as I ask myself that, the answer is there.

Williams.

It has to be. He’d been Avery’s friend for hundreds of years. He knew everything about him. He was overseeing the estate because I wanted no part of it.

He wanted me free of human influence. He must have set this in motion months ago, before he knew about Sandra. It would take time to come up with a phony family tree and lay the foundation for the “inheritance.”

Tamara stops when she realizes I’m not behind her and turns around. She studies me for a moment. “You didn’t know? For real?”

I’m too dazed to do more than shake my head.

“Then who?” She pauses and a sharp flash of surprise widens her eyes. “Williams.”

My turn to reflect surprise. “You know Williams?”

“Yes.”

It’s all she says. Then, “We should go to Sandra.”

She moves off and I rouse myself to follow. My brain is still trying to process the implications of Williams’ treachery. No wonder he came to see me at Glory’s. He said nothing that prepared me for this, but he knew Sandra was about to discover what he’d done. Did he find out that Avery had come back in her body? I doubt it. Otherwise, he would not have been so calm. He’d know once Avery took care of me, he was likely to be next.

He almost got away with it, didn’t he? My family may be packing right now for a future that can never happen. A future that’s a lie. And I played right into it. I was suspicious, but I never connected the legacy to Avery.

Sandra coming here must have really upset Williams’ plans. Did he decide to cut his losses? Feed me to the wolves and hope his part in the deception would go undiscovered?

Tamara has moved through the foyer and, instead of going to the living room, starts upstairs. I realize I have to pay attention to what’s happening now or risk the consequences of being caught off guard by a werewolf who suspects me of deceit. Sandra (or Avery) knew all along what I’ve just found out. I doubt they’ll believe it, though. I wouldn’t.

Another shock wave hits when I realize where Tamara is taking me. Avery’s bedroom. Shit. It was bad enough being in his living room. A tumble of emotions, all negative and too strong to deal with rationally, causes a predictable reaction.

The vampire surfaces.

Tamara is still walking ahead of me. Her own animal instinct causes her to falter, turn around. She senses the change. “We appreciate that this is hard for you. Being here. We wish you no harm. We need your help.”

She stands at the door to the bedroom. His bedroom. My body trembles. If I enter that room, if I face Sandra knowing she is a vessel for Avery, I can’t be sure how I will react.

Tamara watches. She sees the trembling, reads the conflict in my eyes. “Avery is asleep,” she says. “You will be speaking only to Sandra.”

How can she know this? The only sound I’m capable of making at this moment is a growl. It comes from a dark place, the pit of my soul. It is meant as a question and a warning.

Once again, she seems to understand. “When you called,” Tamara says, “Sandra took a sedative. She knew Avery was sensitive to certain drugs. Since he has inhabited her body, we use the knowledge to allow Sandra respite from his control. It doesn’t last long, and when it wears off, he exacts terrible retribution. It is Sandra who awaits you now. Not Avery.”

She pushes open the door and waits.

I wait, too. For the blood to cool, for the fight reflex to dissipate, for reason to take back control.

I close my eyes, and when I reopen them, I’m ready.

CHAPTER 62

THE ROOM IS EXACTLY AS I REMEMBERED IT. Heavy, dark furniture that looks like it belonged in a castle and probably did at one time. Bookcases lining two walls; a huge stone fireplace facing the bed. Arched windows send slanting rays of sunshine and shadow skittering along the walls.

But something is different. It takes me a moment to identify what it is. The light. The light in the room is different. It’s December now, not July. The shift in the angle of a sun moving in a low winter arc paints the walls in pewter instead of gold. Even the fire blazing out from the massive hearth can’t remove the chill.

Tamara makes a sound in her throat. It brings me back, and when I turn, I see Sandra for the first time.

She’s lying propped up by pillows in Avery’s bed. Avery’s bed. At first my senses are overcome by his smell: male, vampire, musk. Then I recognize with sickening clarity that I’m there, too. A hint of perfume, of sweat. Those silken sheets are permeated with the essence of our mingled passion. Pheromones, testosterone, lust. How many times did we have sex in that bed? How can Sandra stand to lie there?

I realize that she’s watching me. I center my thoughts and study her. She is pale, without makeup, her hair combed back from her face. She’s wearing a nightgown, blue chiffon, translucent against the swell of her breasts. The blankets are gathered around her waist. Her hands are clasped on top. She exudes none of the strength, none of the sexuality, that captivated me before. The woman before me is a child, frightened, lost. It sickens me to realize that the same way he controlled me in life, Avery was able to control me through Sandra. I don’t know how long I have before Avery resurfaces. I don’t know that I could confront him in this room.

“Why did you wait so long to come here?” I ask her.

“Avery needed time to gather strength,” she whispers. Her voice is strained, husky. Then, as if the act of speaking is painful, she raises a hand to her throat. “He tries to keep me from communicating. Even now.”

Tamara steps to the bed and strokes Sandra’s hair. Sandra turns grateful eyes to her, and Tamara takes up the story.

“Avery and Sandra met many years ago. She was a girl newly turned, and he a powerful vampire who was curious about the werewolf. In all his years, she was the first that didn’t exhibit hostility to the vampire. In turn, he took her under his protection and allowed her to choose those of our kind willing to bind with her in a pack.”

She looks away from Sandra and to me. “Do you know much about the werewolf pack?”

I shake my head. “Only what I learned recently from an old text. An alpha male dominates the pack. There are more male than female weres and that the female is always subjugated to the male. I remember in Culebra’s bar, the proportion of male to female in your pack was reversed. Your pack is different.”

Tamara smiles. “The text you read called it subjugation? I suppose that’s as good a word as any. In reality, it’s rape and often murder. The old laws are seldom followed. The alpha male takes what he wants. If a female survives, as I did, life becomes a nightmare. She is forced to live with the pack, forced to mate in human or animal form at the whim of any male, forced to work to provide money to sustain the pack. I was one of the lucky ones who escaped. I ran to Mexico. Where I met Sandra.”

Sandra reaches up to clasp her hand. Tamara takes it, brushes a bit of hair from Sandra’s forehead with a gentle touch, and continues.