Billy, who was rising on unsteady feet, spat on the ground before glaring at her as well. “Well, that’s a fine place to keep your iron. Might have been a bit more helpful in yer hand, eh?”
Northrup grunted. His gaze alighted on the swells of her bosom, and his nostrils flared. A wicked light came into his eyes. “Oh, I don’t know. She’d probably shoot off her own… foot at that.”
Daisy refused to dignify their remarks. Instead, she shoved the gun back into her reticule; it was useless now at any rate. “What the bloody hell are you doing jumping off rooftops anyway? Trying to scare the life out of people?”
Northrup’s brows slanted. “I had to jump off the roof to get down here, aye?”
“Is there something untoward about walking along the street as normal people do?” She hit his shoulder with her bag again. The brute had scared her witless, and no doubt had taken pleasure in doing so.
“Ow! And no, I cannot,” he said. “Not when I am in a hurry to chase down one fool woman.” He snorted in disgust. “I’m of a mind to take ye over me knee for sheer stupidity, never mind insulting me to the core. Ye gods, I should have known you’d get up to something, as single-minded as you are. But I never fathomed this depth of idiocy.”
Daisy muttered the vilest oath she could think of and he rolled his eyes. “I’ll consider that one day. Until then, why don’t you tell me whom it is you’re after.”
“The perfumer,” she said. “Apparently, my legitimate perfumer sold the formula to my perfume to a man who then concocts a cheaper version and sells to other stores or private buyers.”
Northrup turned to scowl at the perfumer’s hovel. “Of course. I hadn’t thought to go right to the source,” he mused and then glared at her. “Might have saved me an evening’s worth of trouble had you mentioned that little tidbit.”
Daisy swallowed the niggling feeling of guilt down.
“Lookit,” said a voice. “Seems to me you two are cozy like. Why don’t I leave you alone?”
Billy, she thought dimly. She’d almost forgotten him. She glanced his way to find him edging back from them. “Oh no, you don’t.” Daisy pushed away from Northrup and stalked Billy. “I paid good money, you.” She pointed a finger at Billy. “That includes not fobbing me off on the first man who gets in your way.”
In truth, the idea of being alone with Northrup unsettled her in more ways than one. She ought to have included him in her plans. She ought to have trusted him, for she could see that he cared about her welfare despite his rather snide comments. The idea of facing him with that knowledge made her insides writhe with shame.
Northrup caught her arm and wrenched her back. “Fob you off?” His dark brows lifted in outrage. “Have ye gone daft?” He glowered at Billy, and the poor man twitched. “She stays with me. Go on before I lose my temper with ye.”
“I’m not staying with you if it means being sent home, Northrup!” Daisy wriggled to get free, but Northrup only tucked her more securely at his side.
“Call me Ian,” he snapped. “And ye surely are goin’ home.”
“Don’t go playing the Scottish lord with me.” She kicked at his foot, only to miss. “I decide where I go and with whom, not you.”
Northrup’s nose bunted against hers. “What in the devil’s name are ye talkin’ about, ye dafty wee besom?”
“You know very well.” Daisy ignored the way her breath hitched when he got too near. “You get riled up and off you go, throwing that Highland accent about as if to intimidate.” She dropped her voice in an imitation of his. “Ye will do as I say or I will take ye overrr me knee an’ stroop yer backside!’ ”
Utter silence fell between them, punctuated by Billy’s mutterings about insane women. Northrup’s eyes narrowed, his lips a thin line that twitched at the corners. Then like a thunderclap, his laughter broke free, rolling over her rich and full. The corners of his eyes creased as he bowed and let his brogue roll to full effect. “Aye weel, lassy, ye canna blame a man fer wantin’ ta get his ’ands on such a fine, plump arse such as yers, now can ye?”
She flushed hot. “Ass,” she hissed, which only set him off again.
The crook backed away farther, lifting his hands in the air as if to placate Northrup. “Sorry, luv,” Northrup growled at the endearment, and Billy’s steps quickened, “but might makes right, and all that.” With an apologetic wink, he turned and fled.
“It’s ‘right makes might,’ you little rat,” she yelled after him before turning on Northrup. “Look at what you’ve done. You’ve scared him off.”
Northrup crossed his arms over his chest. “This concerns me how?” The feral look returned to his eyes and sent a chill over her skin. “Does it bother you to lose him? Seemed quite cozy walking at his side. Where did you find him, anyway? Passed out in a gutter?”
She could only laugh in shock. “Are you jealous of Billy Finger?”
His square chin jerked as if hit but he stalked closer. “Answer the question, Daisy.”
“Which one of the four?”
Northrup’s eyes glowed in the moonlight. “Where did you find him?”
“Lord, but you have more curiosity than ten cats—”
“Wolves generally do,” he intoned blandly.
Her heart skipped a light beat but she did not let her haughty expression alter. “He is Miranda’s friend.”
As expected, her sister’s name took the wind out of his sails. He turned to look thoughtfully down the empty alleyway. “I thought he appeared familiar.”
“And just how do you know him?” Daisy countered.
Northrup hesitated for only a moment. “I saw him once, with Miranda in Bethnal Green. She set the street on fire,” he said. “I don’t suppose you possess the same sort of talent? It could come in handy.”
She’d been expecting it, yet his query punched into her with painful force. “No.” She looked away, blinking hard. “Yet another disappointment, I gather.”
Northrup had been in the process of glowering at the distant house, but his head whipped around. “What?” When she said nothing, he stomped to her side and grabbed her hand, forcing her to face him. His expression was fierce, but when he spoke, the words came out surprisingly gentle. “The only thing I find disappointing about you is that you pop up where I least want you to be.”
Emotion lodged in her throat, and she had to fight hard to clear it. “Where is it that you want me to be?”
The soft line of his mouth compressed, and for a moment, she thought he wouldn’t speak. But his tension eased and the pad of his thumb glided over her gloveless fingers. Fast women did not wear gloves. “Not anywhere near here.” He tugged at her hand, pulling her closer. “Let me see you home, Daisy-girl.”
“Look here, Northrup, either we argue for an undue length of time in this foul air and then go into the shack, or we agree now and go into the shack.”
Northrup’s lips twitched as if he were debating whether to laugh or shout, but suddenly, he heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “Fine. But I’m going in and you are waiting out here.” He lifted a finger and gave her a look worthy of a governess. “No objections, or I will throw you over me shoulder and march you home, whether ye will it or no.”
“Your Scottish is showing again.” She grinned at his scowl. “All right, all right. You win. Now may we please get on with it?”
His world was pain and darkness. Brilliant flashes of his life shot through his mind. Memories he did not understand. Instinct made him yearn for fresh air and fields of grass and flowers in which he could run free. And the hunt. The taste of blood and meat. How he wanted that most of all. His stomach rumbled, hunger and thirst, an ache that made him howl.
The lycan had captured him. Bastard. His tormentor. The one that kept him in a constant state of agitation.
Pain wracked his body with the force to break bones, making him cower in the dank corner of his cell. Water dripped. Made him thirst. The clatter of horse hooves from beyond made him wince. He sensed the moon’s power. He’d felt her rays warm him the other night. And then they found him again. Imprisoned him again. His teeth gnashed.
Like a balm, the memory came, of bright blue eyes and a smiling mouth. Hair golden as the sun on wheat. He didn’t understand color. Didn’t see it now. Only in memory. He whined, confusion hurting. Deep inside him came a cry. A man’s cry. The man wanted the female. The man ached for her. Her scent was a constant tease and torment. His woman. The only one who ever cared for him. A flash of memory burned again. His woman lying dead upon a pallet, her body ravaged like his human body had been. Sores and pain. She could not be dead. He scented her still. How could that be?
Rage and confusion blurred until he surged up, smashing his skull against the bars, his teeth snapping at the metal.
Out. He wanted out. The man inside him wanted out, too.
“To her,” the man pleaded. “Find her and the pain will end.”
The wolf had to believe it so. He and the man had been one for so long. What was his memory was the man’s. They only needed to be let out. The wolf banged against the cage again, and again. And each time, the metal bars bent a bit more.
Northrup got his Scottish under control, but not his muttering. Complaints drifted through the quiet as he led her back down the foul alley to the abandoned dwelling of the perfumer. Daisy’s eyes watered as the stench hit her. She allowed one pull of the air into her nostrils so that she might detect anything of use. Beneath the horrible fug of death and decay came a strong, almost painful mix of numerous base notes and florals. Yes, perfume had been made here.
Distaste flattened Northrup’s mouth as he turned to regard her. “Stay here. Take your little gun out and shoot whatever comes close. No hesitation.” He spoke in halting tones as if trying not to breathe or smell if he didn’t have to. “I shall not be far.”
He moved to enter the hovel but she stopped him with a hand to his arm. “Take this.” She offered the flimsy protection of her scented scarf.
A small smile lifted one side of his mouth. “Kind of you, lass. But I’m afraid I’ll be needing my nose.” His skin shone slightly gray in the moonlight. Daisy’s stomach turned in sympathy. She could not imagine willingly inhaling the source of the smell. The wry yet resigned look in his eyes told her they understood each other perfectly on that notion. He said no more, and Daisy was left alone in the thick darkness.
Nothing stirred except the faint sounds of Northrup moving through the shack. The mouth of the narrow alley was an impenetrable wall of inky black. Simply looking at it made her heart pound. Something small and rodentlike skittered past. She shivered and focused on the gaping front door of the perfumer’s home and willed Northrup to hurry. Waiting in the shadows while surrounded by the air of death, one minute felt like an hour.
Daisy huddled farther down into her scarf when a thought occurred. Northrup was only there to scent out the wolf. But more needed to be done. She hesitated. Despite what she’d said to him, she did not want to go into the shack. But she knew she must. Bracing herself, she clamped the scarf more firmly to her nose and strode forward.
Moonlight pouring in from a hole in the roof illuminated the wreckage in the front room, highlighting the glinting edges of broken bottles and the dull shapes of furniture strewn about.
Daisy’s breath came in short bursts as she crept forward, her booted feet crunching on bits of glass. Northrup was nowhere to be seen, and her voice was trapped in her throat, hindering her from calling out. The dark corners of the room seemed a living thing, intent on following her, pressing in on all sides as if to swallow her up. Deep within, she knew Northrup was close, but it did not stop her body from trembling or her mind from urging her to run away.
The smell was a tangible thing, coating her skin, clinging to her hair. She swallowed against the bitter taste of it, and her stomach rebelled. A creak to her left had her whipping about, her heart in her throat. The sight that greeted her was too much.
Lips curled back in a ghoulish grin, the dead woman seemed to mock Daisy. A fat fly buzzed about dull yellow curls before landing on a grizzled cheek. A cry, almost animalistic, broke from Daisy’s lips, just as a pair of warm hands closed over her arms. She screamed again, and he pulled her close.
“It’s me,” Northrup said, hugging her tight. “It’s me.”
Daisy sank into his strength and shuddered. “Was it… did the werewolf do this?”
“Not to her, but there is a man beyond the bed. The perfumer, most likely. The were certainly had at him. No”—he tugged her back when she glanced at the dark shape against the corner—“don’t look.” He cupped the back of her head for a moment. “Are you well enough to move?”
She nodded and then, steeling herself, she pushed away from him and began to search the room in quick, halting steps.
Northrup was at her side in an instant. “What are you doing?”
Casting aside an overturned chair, she opened her mouth only as much as necessary. “Record book.”
They made quick work of searching, Daisy keeping as far away from the bodies as she could. Her hands drifted over the disarray of bottled oils and essences. A fortune in the perfume market, and most likely stolen. When she turned around, she found Northrup standing stone still at the foot of the dead woman’s bed. His head was bent as he stared down at an object in his hand. But it was his expression that worried Daisy, for he looked as if he’d seen a ghost. Given where they were at present, the idea lifted the hairs along her arms.