The Wolf in the Mansion [A Siren Adult Fable] Read online

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  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.sirenpub.com

  Copyright ©2007 by Gracie C. McKeever

  First published in 2007, 2007

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  A Siren Adult Fable

  The Wolf in the Mansion

  Still mourning the death of his wife, recluse Lincoln McCabe's life is forever turned off-kilter by a chance meeting with McCabe Associates’ newest hire, Deja Hamilton, an almost a physical replica of his dead wife, Dahlia.

  Five years after starting at McCabe Associates, personal secretary Deja has worked her way up the ranks to a coveted account executive position. What she hasn't been able to do is eradicate the haunting blue eyes of Lincoln McCabe from her memory despite her best efforts.

  When Lincoln and Deja are reunited five years after their initial meeting, the conditions are neither ideal nor romantic. But Deja is determined to make the best of the situation nursing Lincoln back to health and helping him snare whoever was behind the attempt on his life and the looming takeover of his family's company.

  Sensuality Rating: SIZZLING/SCORCHING

  Genre: Erotic Paranormal Fable Romance (interracial/psychic/shape-shifter/wiccan)

  Length: Novella (22,000 words)

  THE WOLF IN THE MANSION

  A Siren Adult Fable

  Gracie C. McKeever

  EROTIC ROMANCE

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  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  ABOUT THIS E-BOOK: Your purchase of this e-book allows you to one LEGAL copy for your own personal use. It is ILLEGAL to send your copy to someone who did not pay for it. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner of this book.

  THE WOLF IN THE MANSION

  Copyright © 2007 by Gracie C. McKeever

  ISBN: 1-933563-40-0

  First E-book Publication: November 2007

  Cover design by Jinger Heaston

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2007 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  THE WOLF IN THE MANSION

  A Siren Adult Fable

  GRACIE C. MCKEEVER

  Copyright © 2007

  Prologue

  Somewhere in Algonquin Park, Ontario Canada

  The light evening breeze caressed his dense, black fur as Lincoln McCabe sped through the woods, weaving in and out of the trees to avoid being struck with another bullet.

  His chest ached, not just from the force of his pounding heart but also from the knowledge of the man who had shot him. He recognized the eyes, the cool sneer slanted in triumph.

  How could he have been so trusting?

  He should have followed his parents’ lead, but he knew the pain of estrangement all too well and couldn't manage it, especially not once they were gone.

  Lincoln sensed Cyril on his tail, numb with betrayal as he quickened his pace to escape. The well-aimed bullet to his right flank slowed him down considerably as the wound left a nice trail of blood to follow.

  "You can run, Link, but you can't hide!"

  He listened to the taunting voice drag the last word out into at least three syllables, remembered hearing the same tone so many times during his childhood. It hadn't seemed as cold and sinister when raised during youthful play, rather than the murderous scorn it was now.

  Another shot pierced the otherwise silent night and this one penetrated Lincoln's flesh high in the shoulder.

  He yelped, faltering a step before righting himself and dashing behind the nearest tree.

  Another wound, more blood. This did not bode well for his escape.

  He wasn't even sure of where he was going anymore. He hoped he was heading in the general direction of his secluded farmhouse but that was a crapshoot at this point. With the amount of blood he'd lost and the energy he'd expended running, he could have easily gotten turned around despite his superior sense of direction and sight in the dark.

  For an instant he considered shifting to human form. It would take less energy than maintaining his current form, but it would slow him down considerably and he'd be more vulnerable to his pursuer's attack, less able to flee. If he could just make it to the security of his home, he'd have time to shift in relative comfort. The rest would take care of itself.

  If he collapsed out here in the woods he'd be at the mercy of his pursuer. With no witnesses, his brother could take him out and be free to make up any story he liked.

  He glanced back over his shoulder, panting as he spotted Cyril tracking him, rifle held shoulder high, at the ready.

  Lincoln ducked back behind the tree, peering ahead into the darkness. He saw a dim glow about fifty yards beyond the woods, closed his eyes and tuned into the familiar soul. He took a deep breath to be sure and scented her aroma wafting to him on the cool night breeze.

  She was near. He felt her, knew there was safety nearby, someone he could trust.

  Another time, another place, they could have been mates, but he had ruined that when he walked away from her—avoiding her comfort, avoiding her gifts, avoiding the memories she evoked of the irreplaceable one before her ... his wife Dahlia.

  His brother fired again and a bullet whizzed passed Lincoln's head to take a chunk out of a tree several feet in front of him.

  Lincoln sprinted on pure instinct, hitting his top speed of forty miles per hour before he realized, almost too late, that the clearing led straight to the edge of a cliff.

  He broke to a stop, front paws kicking up dirt and gravel before he looked at the lake below. It was almost a sheer drop of fifty feet. Moonlight reflected off the water's surface giving it an eerie glow. It was a calm appearance, but Lincoln knew it was doubtful he'd survive a drop that far, even in wolf form.

  Did he have any better chance of surviving another gunshot wound, especially when the shooter was using silver bullets?

  Lincoln took several deep breaths, closed his eyes and leaped over the edge, the inescapable image of his destiny floating before his mind's eye—Deja Hamilton.

  Chapter 1

  Battleby Lodge inside Algonquin Park, Ontario Canada

  That morning, Deja didn't think she had done anything harder in her life than watching her teenage son, Shawn, wave goodbye to her from behind the tinted bus windows.

  Except for school and summer camp, they had been pretty much inseparable since he'd been born. His two-week trip to a dude ranch in Canada was their first time apart and Deja's first vacation since starting work at McCabe Associates five years ago. She was torn between enjoying her own trip and missing Shawn's solid company.

  Hard to believe the most reliable and engaging man in her life was her si
xteen-year-old son.

  Goddess, she needed to get a life, or as her son often reminded her, a good man. But she hadn't had time for much of either since Shawn's father had left her high and dry once the pregnancy test came back positive almost seventeen years ago.

  A teen herself at sixteen, Deja had naturally assumed she could turn to her boyfriend for support, if not financial, then at least emotional. She got neither, and it served her right for trusting a mere man-child with her love and her virginity.

  If she hadn't learned her lesson from her own single mom, she'd learned it from Jeff's defection. When the going got tough, men left.

  Deja carried her simmering green tea from the kitchen through the cozy log cabin until she reached the full-screened porch. She took a seat in the old-fashioned maple rocker and covered her legs with the handmade Aztec-patterned quilt as she settled back for her first sip.

  She took a deep breath of the fresh, earthy scents wafting from the lake and woods just steps away, enjoying the crisp evening air of her natural surroundings and appreciated how the owners were able to preserve the past yet still meet the needs of contemporary vacationers at Battleby. With no television, telephone or radio in the cabin, the cottage resort was as wild and rustic as Deja had ever gotten without really roughing it.

  The thought of coming across any wild animals did concern her a little, but not enough to ruin her delight with the private country setting.

  This was the life. Peace, tranquility and solitude were all of her favorite pastimes. Deja could only hope her son was enjoying himself as much as she was.

  She told herself she didn't need a man to mess all this up, that between her job and Shawn she didn't have time for one. But Shawn, so eager to get out on his own and act the grown-up, kept reminding her he would be going off to college soon and Deja knew the job, though fulfilling, was a poor substitute for adult male companionship.

  She wished getting a man, much less a good man, was as simple and straightforward an endeavor as her son seemed to think.

  Deja wasn't ready to go on a hunt anyway and even if she was, there had only been one man she'd come across in the last five years who remotely sparked life to her bruised heart and wanting pussy and made her want to sacrifice her “single-mom-and-loving-it” existence to crave a romantic liaison. That man was her employer, the detached and untouchable Lincoln McCabe.

  Just thinking the name sent twin jolts of emotional and physical electricity shooting through her, the latter forming an instant pool of liquid fire in her center.

  She barely knew him, but what she did know had always struck her heart and body at once, the sensitivity he'd shown her when she'd most needed it, the solid strength of his hands in hers when she'd been at one of her weakest moments. Just that one touch showed her what she needed to know of the man—the goodness and generosity of his heart. Just that one touch had been enough to sustain her for the following months and years when she'd only captured a hint of his broad shoulders at the office.

  Deja closed her eyes and licked her lips as the images came to her, bit by delicious bit. From his 6'3, lean-waisted physique to his full head of long, wavy black hair and finally the unforgettable, long-lashed blue eyes, Lincoln McCabe had been starring in every one of her wet dreams and damsel-in-distress fantasies since she had run into him outside the halls of McCabe Associates five years ago.

  Then a yearlong widower, Lincoln McCabe was still, unexplainably free after all this time, but it certainly didn't mean the man was anywhere near her league.

  Inexperienced and struggling to make ends meet for her and Shawn with two dead-end jobs as a waitress and a housekeeper while taking college business courses at night, she'd just barely managed to talk her way into an entry-level position working as Cyril McCabe's personal assistant.

  Deja shuddered, unsure if it was from the slight chill of air coming off of the lake or her memory of Lincoln's partner and cool and calculating older brother, Cyril.

  When she'd first interviewed with Cyril McCabe, she told herself she wasn't marrying him, would just be working for him. She didn't need to like him as much as she needed a foot in the door and a chance to move up in the world. But just because she had succeeded in impressing Cyril and moving up at McCabe Associates didn't mean she had a chance with the company president. This wasn't Dynasty after all.

  Impossible attractions and relationships aside, she didn't think there was a man alive who was ready to deal with her uniqueness, not even Lincoln. She wasn't yet sure if she was ready to deal with her uniqueness, and she had been dealing with it on her own since she was a child.

  Although there had been something between her and Lincoln during that brief meeting, there was something between her and Cyril in the same way. In Lincoln's case, it was positive, a light and energy that attracted Deja as opposed to the way Cyril's dark energy repelled her.

  What were the two brothers hiding besides a little obvious sibling rivalry? And did Deja really want to come between them with her own baggage?

  She took another sip of tea, cradling the porcelain cup in her hands and enjoying the warmth as it seeped into her skin. She had thought it would be a little warmer out, even for an evening in Ontario. Now, she understood the ‘cold air mass from Canada’ references the New York City weathermen were always making in their forecasts.

  She placed her cup on the nearby end table then stood wrapping the blanket around her shoulders. A rifle shot sounded in the distance just as she neared the edge of the porch.

  A haunting howl pierced the night almost immediately, making Deja freeze in her tracks. She jerked her gaze towards the horizon, following the general direction of the sounds.

  Had the animal been hit and how badly was it hurt? But almost as important, she wondered if it was a timber wolf.

  Deja had always found wolves so alluring and majestic in general, but especially the timber wolf, and had read up on the animals before her trip to the resort. She didn't believe in the old superstitions about wolves attacking people, knew the animals, like most animals unless provoked or hungry, had no interest in humans and did everything to avoid civilization.

  However, the thought of coming face-to-face with an animal that could take down a full-grown moose and had a biting capacity of 1,500 pounds of pressure per square inch colored her curiosity and excitement with a smidgen of fear she tried to squelch with logic.

  Deja peered into the distance, the moonlight glancing off Cache Lake just enough to help her make out something or someone falling off a cliff edge in the near distance and landing in the lake with a muffled splash.

  She stared at the spot for only a moment before making a split-second decision and ran for one of the boats moored to the dock. Deja dropped the blanket onto the seat, quickly untied the boat and shoved off, rowing with as much speed as her arms could muster, a mixture of desperation and doom fueling her strokes.

  There was no way anything, animal or human, could have survived that fall. If anyone had survived, that person was probably in pretty bad shape. An injured animal would surely be dangerous. Maybe she'd be better off just going to the Lodge and using the guest phone to contact some wildlife organization with the description of what she'd heard and seen.

  Even with the doubt, Deja continued to paddle. She'd been shy and tried to keep a low profile all her life, especially once she discovered how different she was from all her peers, but she had never let fear rule her actions.

  Deja peered into the night as she closed the distance between herself and what she thought had fallen. She caught the outline of someone draped over an outcropping of rocks, moonlight glinting off damp, bronzed shoulders.

  She blinked at the fine black fur receding from the flesh of the man's lower back. She shook her head at the impossibility. What she saw couldn't be right!

  Upon closer inspection, Deja noticed the wound in the back of one shoulder, blood still seeping and mingling with the lake water as she neared.

  She pulled alongside the motio
nless figure, unsure if he was alive or dead until she noticed the fast rise and fall of his back as he panted.

  She rowed closer, steering the boat towards the nearest piece of land and docking. She made sure it was moored tight before getting out. It wouldn't do either of them any good if the thing floated away and left them stranded.

  Deja squatted beside the man and turned him over onto his back, not knowing what to expect, but certainly not to see one of her employers. “It can't be..."

  She had no idea she had spoken aloud before a hand shot out to grab her wrist.

  "What did you see?"

  "Are you okay?” she asked, rather than answering him.

  Lincoln McCabe blinked and stared at her. In an instant, his eyes lit with recognition, or so Deja thought, until he called her ‘Dahlia.'

  "No, I'm Deja.” She tried to pry her wrist loose, but he had it in a death grip. She gave up and focused on him instead. “Mr. McCabe—"

  "Lincoln. My name is Lincoln."

  She grinned at his verbal confirmation, as if she could ever forget him. “I know who you are. And right now we need to get you some help."

  He blinked, glance widening when he caught sight of the ankh dangling from a gold chain around her neck. He reached up and caressed the pendant before pinning her with a look. “You are a witch."

  "What?"

  How could he know? She'd been so careful. She didn't even think Shawn knew. She did everything she could to keep her gifts from him before she thought he was ready to handle them. She hadn't had the luxury, her powers manifesting when she'd been a young girl. She knew all too well what it was like to grow up different and with a mother who was different from everyone else's mother, one too involved with her own needs to recognize those of her child. She did not want to put that cross on her son.

  Her own mother flaunted her youth, acting like Deja's sister instead of her mother, tried to hang out with Deja and her friends whenever she could as if her daughter was a peer. Deja avoided this scene by fostering as little friendships as she could. Her mother and her own burgeoning powers sealed her loner lifestyle. Better a loner than a freak. She'd become so accustomed to living this way, afraid of her powers and what she could do as a child, that keeping to herself easily followed her into her later years, until she met Shawn's father.