She closed her eyes, waiting for the explosion. “After we’ve had a good rest, my cousin will come for you and take you to California for safekeeping.”

She clenched her teeth against speaking her mind and saying something hurtful. She reminded herself they both were exhausted, and she kept her lips sealed.

One thing he’d learn about her, he might be the alpha male, or at least was attempting to take on that role, but she was a lone wolf... a rogue, and had been for years. She played by her own rules, and until now — well, until she got thrown in the zoo — she’d done well enough on her own.

“Bella?” He waited for her agreement, but she couldn’t give it.

“Sleep, Devlyn. I’m exhausted.”

He continued to stroke her hair and back. “I’m calling my cousin when it’s light out. I want you to stay with him while I take care of the reds.”

No way was he going to tell her what to do. Yet, from his definitive tone, he expected to do just that, and she’d obey.

She glanced at her alarm clock. Dawn would break in another three hours or so. He thought she’d go along with him, just like that.

Wait until she woke up later. Once she had some sleep... she’d...

She yawned. She’d do something about it.

When Devlyn began to snore, she lay awake for another half hour, aggravated that she couldn’t quiet her mind and sleep. Finally, she slipped out of his arms and left the room.

In her office, she turned on the computer and checked her email. Argos was asking for an update. She clicked on his message but hesitated to answer. She wanted to ask his advice, but she couldn’t. Despite being like a father to her, he had been a pack leader. He was sure to think she’d done the wrong thing in killing Volan the way she had.

Not bothering to send a reply, she checked the rest of her email. Alfred, Nicol, and Ross had all sent her messages.

She ignored them and stared at the subject of the last one.

Wicked Bella.

Her heart raced. The reds knew her real name now. Was it the murdering red who had learned her name from the others? The sender used her own email address, so no clue there. The other reds always used their real names so she’d know it was them.

She poised her finger on the mouse, took a deep breath, and clicked. The message opened up and the breath caught in her throat.

I’m invincible, don’t you know, sweet Bella? Invincible. Volan

A photo finished loading, a picture of the devil wolf himself, his unkempt black hair straddling his shoulders, his eyes and lips smiling without humor, his skin pale, not ruddy like it had been when she first spied him at the club.

How... how could he have survived?

“Bella?” Devlyn called out from the bedroom.

She turned off the computer, her heart racing. When had Volan sent the email? Before or after she killed him? How could he be alive? No, no, he wasn’t alive. He’d sent the email to her before she met him at the club, angered that Devlyn wasn’t bringing her home to him right away. That’s why he called her wicked Bella. But the invincible part threw her.

Invincible because he could survive silver bullets?

“Bella!”

“Coming.” She strode back to the bedroom, her skin prickling with fear.

Volan couldn’t be alive. According to the legend, silver bullets that penetrated the brain or heart or were left elsewhere in the body and not removed right away could cause death. But what if the legend were just that — a made-up legend and not really true? Think, think — had she ever known of a case where a silver bullet killed a lupus garou?

No, death because of fire, a cousin broke his neck when he was in his human form and jumped into a shallow river bed, but no one she actually knew had ever been killed by a silver bullet.

Reluctantly, she climbed back into bed, and Devlyn wrapped his arms around her, tightening his grip. His touch should have warmed her, but she was chilled to the center of her being. She was so stiff, Devlyn whispered into her ear, “Sleep, Bella honey.”

But she couldn’t. She tried to relax, tried to let Devlyn think everything was all right. But her mind wouldn’t shut down.

Volan had to be dead. Otherwise, she’d made love to Devlyn thinking Volan was dead. She’d given herself freely to the man she’d wanted forever, only to get him killed. She didn’t have to worry about Devlyn being arrested for Volan’s murder, but now she fretted over her original fear — Volan was indomitable, as she’d always known, and he would terminate Devlyn.

Unless, Volan was really dead. He had to be.

She thought back to the dance club and the events that led up to her killing him and afterward. He went down like a felled redwood. And he didn’t move again. For several minutes, he didn’t move. But she hadn’t checked his pulse, either. Did he have a pulse? She groaned inwardly.

But... but what if he’d been wearing a bulletproof vest?

No. Why in the world would he have done that? He was an alpha male pack leader. He could control her, he’d think. And she was certain he’d never believe she’d shoot him with silver bullets.

So what in the hell had gone wrong?

Devlyn took a heavy breath, and she sensed he’d fallen asleep again.

Then another distressing thought hit her. What if silver bullets did work as the legend stated, but the old-time blacksmith who’d made them for her had taken her silver and kept it? What if he’d used some other compound and the bullets weren’t really silver at all?

She considered what had happened that day so long ago when she’d thought Volan was close on her trail and she’d found a smithy working at his anvil, his large, sinewy hands pumping the bellows to heat the fire. The sign hanging above the blacksmith’s shop in the Arizona town proudly advertised his skills: wrought iron work, horse shoeing, wagon fixing, wagon wheels, pulling teeth.

But all she’d cared about was whether or not he could make bullets. Silver bullets.

She could still envision the way the big man stared back at her, his muscular arms bulging under his linen shirt, his bushy black brows raised, his mouth embedded in black whiskers and partially opened.

“Silver bullets,” he’d repeated, like a parrot.

Bella had offered her most winsome smile. “My brother collects old bullets from the American Revolution, Civil War period, various types. A collector. Anyway, he was saying how he had about every size, shape, and kind of bullet known to man except for one.”

“Silver bullets.”

“Yes, sir. He’s turning twenty-five and I wanted to give him a real keepsake. Will these be enough silver spoons for the job?”

The smithy wiped his sweaty hands on his apron and considered the silverware. Looking back up at her with eyes as black as the coal in his fire, he asked, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Come back in three hours. I have several other jobs before yours, miss.” “Yes, yes, thank you.”

And then she’d left to spend time in the mercantile, purchasing some dried meat and other items for the trip she’d have to make. The widow MacNeil that she’d lived with had died the month before. Bella had stayed there long enough and needed to move on, especially if Volan had learned she was there. After buying her stagecoach passage for Idaho, she returned to the smithy’s shop. He had already gone, but a note was left on a table with six silver bullets: for Bella MacNeil.

Then she’d left with her treasure, her protection against Volan. For the first time ever, she wasn’t afraid.

Which made her wonder again, did the smithy keep the silver for himself and give her regular bullets?

If so, she had one more chance to protect herself. The gun at her cabin. Different smithy, this one at Donley’s Wild West Town a few years ago in Chicago, when Bella thought it might be prudent to have two guns, one at each residence, both filled with silver bullets. Or at least she hoped.

Devlyn’s arm twitched, and she breathed in his masculine scent.

God, how she loved her big gray, and how she hated having to leave him. But if Volan was truly alive, the nightmare would never end. As soon as they found out who the red killer was, she would run again.

An hour into her slumber, Bella woke. What was the sound she’d heard? A grinding of metal against metal? A key slipping into the front door lock?

Chapter Fifteen

Bella listened but didn’t hear any further sounds. Slipping out of Devlyn’s arms, she was surprised he didn’t wake. Her heart beating hard sent the blood rushing into her ears.

Maybe she’d dreamed she heard something. Maybe a branch scratched at the window out back. So why had it sounded like a key in the front door?

She pulled on her jeans and a T-shirt and then seized the 9 mm from her bedside table drawer where she’d hidden it again, minus two bullets. Silver or regular? She growled low under her breath but reminded herself that Volan could be dead.

Taking a step out of the bedroom, she listened with her fine-tuned hearing and sniffed the air for any sign of an intruder. Nothing. She turned in the direction of the kitchen. The house remained dark, although she could see like a wolf in the middle of the blackest night.

Her heart thundering, she crept closer to the kitchen. She sensed something, a hushed word, a faint rustling, something out of the ordinary. Then the smell...

She tilted her chin up, readying her weapon. It wasn’t Volan’s smell. His remained imprinted on her memory forever. She sniffed again. A red? But the scent confused her. More than one? Damn, the three of them?

Alfred entered the living room from the kitchen. Ross and Nicol came from the dining room. All three paused when they spied her gun.

“Silver bullets,” she said, loudly, hoping to wake Devlyn. She didn’t want him to know she had a gun loaded with silver bullets, or at least what she thought had been silver bullets. Wolf to wolf combat was the way they settled things. However, she had no choice at the moment. “They were meant for Volan if he ever found me. But I have enough to use on the three of you also.”

But in truth, she didn’t want to waste the bullets on these three — silver or otherwise. She knew Devlyn could make them leave.