Davidson, Mary Janice - Wyndham Werewolves 06 - Derik's Bane6

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MaryJanice Davidson

BERKLEYSENSATION,NEW YORK

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (USA)Inc.

375 Hudson Street,New York ,New York10014 ,USA

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's

imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business

establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

DERIK'S BANE

A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

HUNTING HISTORY

Berkley Sensation edition / January 2005

Cover design by Pamela Jaber.

Interior text design by Stacy Irwin.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form

without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials in

violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions. For information address: The Berkley

Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York

10014.

ISBN: 0-425-19997-5

BERKLEYSENSATION

Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

375 Hudson Street,New York ,New York10014.

BERKLEY SENSATION and the "B" design

are trademarks belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

PRINTEDin THEUNITED STATES OF AMERICA 10 987654321

If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It

was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has

received any payment for this "stripped book."

For Giselle McKenzie,

who has been waiting for this book for years. And for my husband, who hasn't.

Acknowledgments

Thanks as always to my family, who willingly shares me with the computer, and my husband, who shares

the computer with me, not so willingly. Thanks also to the fans ofLove's Prisoner and Jared's Wolf,

who write me every week asking for Derik's story. Here it is.

"What, were you raised by wolves?"

Sara Gunn, R.N., Ph.D., Sorceress

"Uh..."

Derik Gardner, amateur cook,

werewolf, Wyndham affiliation

THE PAST

The man had short brown hair, neatly trimmed. His eyes were that mold-colored shade between gray

and brown, a color everyone has seen at one time or another in the back of their fridge. His skin was the

color of cheap milk chocolate, and his height was supremely average. He was dressed in a suit several

shades lighter than his skin tone, a white button-down shirt, and a gray tie with brown stripes. He had a

plain gold wedding band on the third finger of his left hand, although he wasn't married. He wore black

wire-rimmed glasses, although his eyesight was 20/20, and his shoes had never been shined. He looked

like an accountant.

He wasn't an accountant.

The man gazed through the glass at DOE, JANE, born seventy-two minutes ago. DOE, JANE was a

sweetly chubby infant with a wild shock of dark red hair. DOE, JANE was apparently born surprised,

because her hair stood straight up from her skull, and her small reddish brows arched above her blue,

blue eyes. She opened her small, wet mouth and let out a yell the man who wasn't an accountant could

hear even through the glass.

"Well?" the nurse asked. She was a floater, here at the hospital—so thought those in charge of such

things—because of understaffing. In truth, her presence at the delivery of DOE, JANE had been foretold

six centuries ago. As had the violent death of DOE, JANE's father just minutes before the child crowned.

As had, of course, DOE, JANE herself. "Is it... are they right? Is that—?"

"She who will redeem us, and our king," the man replied, "yes. She is Morgan Le Fay, among us again,

and this time she will do what she could not before. This time..." The man smiled, showing a great many

white teeth. Too many, it seemed, for his average, unassuming mouth. 'This time, ours will be done."

The nurse smiled back. By contrast, her smile wasn't frightening in the least—she had the grin of a

beauty contestant. But her eyes were dead.

They watched DOE, JANE through the glass for a long time.

THE PRESENT

Michael Wyndham stepped out of his bedroom, walked down the hall, and saw his best friend, Derik

Gardner, on the main floor headed for the front door. He grabbed the banister and vaulted, dropped

fifteen feet, and landed with a solid thud he felt all the way through his knees. "Hey, Derik!" he called

cheerfully. "Wait a sec!" From his bedroom he heard his wife mutter, "Ihate when he does that... gives

me a flippin' heart attack every time," and couldn't help grinning. Wyndham Manor had been his home all

his life, and the only time he walked up or down those stairs was when he was carrying his daughter,

Lara. He didn't know how ordinary humans could stand walking around in their fragile little shells. He'd

tried to talk to his wife about this on a few occasions, but her eyes always went flinty, and her gun hand

flexed, and the phrase "hairy fascist bastard" came up, and things got awkward. Werewolves were tough,

incredibly tough, but compared to Homo sapiens, who wasn't?

It was a ridiculously perfect day outside, and he couldn't blame Derik for wanting to head out as quickly

as possible. Still, there was something troubling his old friend, and Michael was determined to get to the

bottom of it.

"Hold up," Michael said, reaching for Derik's shoulder. "I want to—"

"I don't care what you want," Derik replied without turning. He grabbed Michael's hand and flung it

away, so sharply Michael lost his balance for a second. "I'm going out."

Michael tried to laugh it off, ignoring the way the hairs on the back of his neck tried to stand up.

"Touch-ee! Hey, I just want to—"

"I'm goingout!" Derik moved, cat-quick, and then Michael was flying through the air with the greatest of

ease, only to slam into the door to the coat closet hard enough to splinter it down the middle.

Michael lay on his back a moment like a stunned beetle. Then he flipped to his feet, ignoring the slashing

pain down his back. "My friend," he said, "you are so right. Except you're going out on the tip of my

boot, pardon me while I kick your ass." This in a tone of mild banter, but Michael was crossing the room

in swift strides, barely noticing that his friend Moira, who had just come in from the kitchen, squeaked

and jumped out of the way.

Best friend or no, nobody—nobody—knocked the alpha male around in his own ... damned .. . house.

The other Pack members lived there by his grace and favor, thanks very much, and while the forty-room

house had more than enough room for them all, certain things were simply ... not... done.

"Don't start with me," Derik warned. The morning sunlight was slanting through the skylight, shining so

brightly it looked like Derik's hair was about to burst into flames. His friend's mouth—usually relaxed in a

wiseass grin—was a tight slash. His grass-green eyes were narrow. He looked—Michael had trouble

believing it—ugly and dangerous. Rogue. "Just stay off."

"You started it, at the risk of sounding junior high, and you're going to show throat and apologize, or

you'll be counting your broken ribs all the way to the emergency room."

"Come near me again, and we'll see who's counting ribs."

"Derik. Last chance."

"Cut it out!" It was Moira, shrieking from a safe distance. "Don't do this in his own house, you idiot! He

won't stand down, and you two morons—schmucks—losers will hurt each other!"

"Shut up," Derik said to the woman he (usually) lovingly regarded as a sister. "And get lost. . . this isn't

for you."

"I'm getting the hose," she warned, "and thenyou can pay to have the floors resealed."

"Moira, out," Michael said without looking around. She was a fiercely intelligent female werewolf who

could knock over an elm if she needed to, but she was no match for two males squaring off. The day was

headed down the shit hole already; he wouldn't see Moira hurt on top of it. "And Derik, she's right, let's

take this outside-—ooooof!"

He didn't duck, though he could see the blow coming. He should have ducked, but... he still couldn't

believe what was happening. His best friend—Mr. Nice Guy himself!—was challenging his authority.

Derik, always the one to jolly people out of a fight. Derik, who had Michael's back in every fight, who

had saved his wife's life, who loved Lara like she was his own.

The blow—hard enough to shatter an ordinary man's jaw—knocked him back a full three steps. And

that was that. Allowances had been made, but now the gloves were off. Moira was still shrieking, and he

could sense other people filling the room, but it faded to an unimportant drone.

Derik gave up trying for the door and slowly turned. It was like watching an evil moon come over the

horizon. He glared, full in the face: a dead-on challenge for dominance. Michael grabbed for his throat,

Derik blocked, they grappled. A red cloud of rage swam across Michael's vision; he didn't see his

boyhood friend, he saw a rival. A challenger.

Derik wasn't giving an inch, was shoving back just as hard, warning growls ripping from his throat,

growls that only fed Michael's rage(rival! rival for your mate, your cub! show throat or die!)

made him yearn to twist Derik's head off, . made him want to pound, tear, hurt—

Suddenly, startlingly, a small form was between them. Was shoving, hard. Sheer surprise broke them

apart.

"Daddy! Quit it!" Lara stood between them, arms akimbo. "Just. . . don't do that!"

His daughter was standing protectively in front of Derik. Not that Derik cared, or even noticed; his gaze

was locked on Michael's: hot and uncompromising.

Jeannie, frozen at the foot of the stairs, let out a yelp and lunged toward her daughter, but Moira moved

with the speed of an adder and flung her arms around the taller woman. This earned her a bellow of rage.

"Moira, what the hell? Let go!"

"You can't interfere," was the small blonde's quiet reply. "None of us can." Although Jeannie was quite a

bit taller and heavier, the smaller woman had no trouble holding Jeannie back. Jeannie was the alpha

female, but human—the first human alpha the Pack had known in three hundred years. Moira would

follow almost any command Jeannie might make . . . but wouldn't let the woman endanger herself, or

interfere with Pack law that was as old as the family of Man;

Oblivious to the drama on the stairs, Derik started forward again, but Lara planted her feet. "Quit it,

Derik!" She swung her small foot into Derik's shin, which he barely noticed. "And Daddy, you quit, too.

Leave him alone. He's just sad and feeling stuck. He doesn't want to hurt you."

Michael ignored her. He was glaring at his rival and reaching for Derik again, when his daughter's voice

cut through the tension like a laser scalpel. "I saidleave him alone."

Thatgot his attention; he looked down at her in a hurry. He expected tears, red-faced anger, but Lara's

face was, if anything, too pale. Her eyes were huge, so light brown they were nearly gold. Her dark hair

was pulled back in two curly pigtails.

He realized anew how tall she was for her age, and how she was her mother's daughter. And her

father's. Her gaze was direct, adult. And not a little disconcerting.

"What?" Shock nearly made him stammer. Behind him, nobody moved. It seemed nobody even

breathed. And Derik was standing down, backing off, heading for the door. Michael, in light of these

highly interesting new events, let him go. He employed his best Annoyed Daddy tone. "What did you say,

Lara?"

She didn't flinch. "You heard me. But you won't hear me say it again."

He was furious, appalled. This wasn't—he had to—she couldn't—But pride was rising, blotting out the

fury. Oh, his Lara! Intelligent, gorgeous— and utterly without fear! "Would he have everdared face

down his father?

It occurred to him that the future Pack leader was giving him an order. Now what to do about it?

A long silence passed, much longer in retrospect. This would be a moment his daughter would

remember if she lived to be a thousand. He could break her ... or he could start training a born leader.

He bowed stiffly. He didn't show the back of his neck; it was the polite bow to an equal. "A wiser head

has prevailed. Thank you, Lara." He turned on his heel and walked toward the stairs, catching Jeannie's

hand on the way up, leaving the others behind. Moira had released her grip on his wife, was staring,

openmouthed, at Lara. They were all staring. He didn't think it had ever been so quiet in the main hall.

Michael was intent on reaching his bedroom where he could think about all that had just happened, and

gain his wife's counsel. He didn't quite dare go after Derik just yet—best to take time for their blood to

cool. Christ! It wasn't even eight o'clock in the morning!

"Mikey—what—cripes—"

And Lara. His daughter, who jumped between two werewolves with their blood up. Who faced him

down and demanded he leave off. His daughter, defending her dearest friend. His daughter, who had just

turned four. They had known she was ferociously intelligent, but to have such a strong sense of what was

right and what was—

Jeannie cut through his thoughts with a typically wry understatement. "Thiscan't be good. But I'm sure

you can explain it to me. Use hand puppets. And me without my So You Married a Werewolf guide ..."

Then he was closing their bedroom door and thinking about his place in the Pack, and his daughter's,

and how he hoped he wouldn't have to kill his best friend before the sun set.

Derik heard the footsteps and slowed. He'd made it almost all the way to the beach but, unless he felt

like swimming toLondon , it was time to stop and think with his head instead of his temper.

Whoever was approaching was downwind, so lie didn't know for sure, but he braced himself for

Michael. He'd have to apologize, or there would he real trouble. And hewould apologize. He would. He

owed it to his friend, and worse, he'd behaved badly. So he would apologize. Yes. Absolutely.

But it would taste like shit in his mouth.

Derik stared out to sea and shook his head at this sorry-ass turn of events. He and Mike had grown up

together. Their mothers had often put them in the same crib to nap. They had experienced their first

Change the same month of the same year; he remembered Mike had been as thrilled, as terrified, as

drunk on the moon as he had been. They had chased together, hunted together, killed together. Had

defended the Pack together.

He had no problem with Michael; he loved the big dope.

He just didn't love Michael being the boss. Not anymore.

Derik made a fist and hit himself on the thigh. This was his problem, not Michael's, and he had to figure

out how to fix it, pronto. He owed the big guy respect, not just brotherly love. And show it he would, no

matter how the words wanted to choke him. He wasn't some—some monkey, fighting for the sake of it.

He was a werewolf, member of the Wyndham Pack, and fully grown besides. Squabbling was beneath

him. So was picking fights.

He turned, forcing a smile .. . and the clod of dirt hit him right in the middle of the forehead. It exploded,

and dust sprayed everywhere.

"Idiot! Putz! Dumb ass!"

"Jeez, Moira," he complained, secretly glad showing throat had been put off a bit, "you could have put

my eye out."

"I wasaiming for your eye, you stupid asshole!"

"Now, Moira, you know you shouldn't use such vague terms," he teased. "You gotta speak hi black and

white, honey, really let people know what's on your mind."

She wasn't having it; the scowl didn't crack. She marched the rest of the way up to him— looking cute

as hell in khaki shorts and a lavender T-shirt—and kicked him smartly in the shin. It hurt, too; Moira had

toenails like a sloth. "How could you risk your life like that? We nearly had a fight for dominance in the

main hall _- front of all your friends. In front of Lara! You're lucky Michael didn't tear your head off.

You're lucky Jeannie didn't shoot you!"

He didn't want to, but couldn't help it: He felt his lips draw back from his teeth. "I could have taken him."

Moira threw up her hands. "What iswrong with you? You've been like a hungry bear all summer. This is

a good time for us, Derik— Michael's brought peace, Gerald's gone, we caught the monster who'd been

killing those poor girls . . . there's never been a better time to be a werewolf. So why are you trying so

hard to screw things up?"

He looked at her, this fine woman, as dear to him as Michael was.Oh, yeah? a treacherous inner voice

whispered.Dear to you, hub? You've got a funny way of showing it, jerkoff.

He didn't have an answer for her. "I don't know what's wrong," he said dully. "I just want to fight, all the

time. Everything that comes out of Michael's mouth is pissing me off. I love him, but I could choke him

right now just to watch his eyeballs bulge."

Moira's own eyeballs bulged a bit at that, but she recovered quickly. Her eyes—so fine a blue they were

nearly lavender—went narrow and thoughtful. She began to pace, looking not unlike a petite blonde

general.

"Okay, well, let's figure this out." He smiled in spite of himself. Moira the math genius. Every problem

could be broken down to an equation and, thus, solved. Well, hell, she'd figured out where Bin Laden

was hiding, hadn't she? Luckily for the world, one of the cabinet members was a werewolf. Moira had

sent an E-mail, and forty-eight hours later, hello, spider hole. "Are you in love with Jeannie?"

"Wha—no!"

"Okay, calm down. It's an explanation, you know ... if you wanted another man's mate."

"Well, I don't. I mean, Ilike her and all, but Ac's Michael's. Just like he's hers. You can't really picture

either of them with anyone else, can you?"

Moira stopped pacing and smiled at him. "No, you're right about that. All right, then," she continued

matter-of-factly, "are you in love with me?"

"Ewww, no!"

Unfortunately, she kept going. "Are you upset because I've taken a mate and am having sex with him

pretty much every chance I—"

"Aagghh, Moira, please, my eardrums are gonna implode!"

She arched her brows. " 'Eww'?"

"Honey, you're too cute to be believed, but I have never—never,yuck!—thought of you that way.

Never. Ugh! Did I say never?"

"All right, you don't have to induce vomiting to get your point across."

"If it'll get your mind off that track ..." he warned, fully prepared to shove a finger down his throat.

"Well, it's another theory, that's all."

"A bad, terrible, awful, yucky theory. Baby, we grew up together. You're like the sister I never wanted."

He flopped down onto the sand to watch her pace. "Don't take this the wrong way or anything, but if you

put your tongue in my mouth, I'd probably barf."

"Mutual, wise guy. Actually, I was sure you were picking a fight because you've got the urge to settle

down with a mate, and you're surrounded by mated couples, and ... well, I know how you feel, is all."

She paused, looking pensive. "I was so lonesome before Jared came."

"Moira mated with a monkey, Moira mated with a monkey," Derik sang.

"Shut up, don't call him that! God, I really hate that term."

"I dare you to use it in front of Jeannie," he teased.

"Do I look like I want to spend the rest of the day in an iron lung? Never mind the humans in our lives ...

my point is, I couldn't stand to be around Michael or Jeannie, because seeing their happiness made me

feel worse. I figured that was your problem, too."

"Well, it's not. Don't get me wrong, cutie, I'd love to find the right girl and knock her up—"

"And cherish and love her," Moira added dryly.

"—but I've got time. Hell, I'm not even thirty vet "

"Well, we could see if Michael—"

"Leave him out of this."

She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, then adopted an overly innocent expression that put him

instantly on guard. The last time she'd looked like that, she had encouraged Lara to cut up his cashmere

sweater to make soft puppets. "We should talk to Michael, you know. He's our leader. He'll tell us what

to do."

He ground his teeth in irritation. "Moira, whatever the problem is,I will figure it out. I don't need

Michael shoving his snout in where it's not wanted."

"But he'll fix everything. He'll tell you how to solve your problem, and you'll listen to him, and you'll be

better."

"I said I can handle thisby myself!"

"You don't want his help?"

He bounced to his feet so swiftly, to a human it would have looked like he teleported. "Jesus, do I have

to write it on my forehead? Whatever it is, it's my problem, not his, so he should justleave me be!"

"Ah," she said quietly. "So that's it. Also, back up before I bite off your chin."

He did, realizing he and Moira were nose-to-nose. As nose-to-nose as they could be, anyway—he was

a foot taller. "Sorry. I should probably take a walk, sweetie, I'm not good company right now."

"I wonder when it happened?"

"Whenwhat happened?" he practically snarled.

"When you became alpha."

"Don't be ridiculous," he said automatically, but inwardly he could feel himself nodding.

"Oh," she said, watching him, "and you knew, of course. Sure. You knew, but you ignored it, because

you don't want to hurt anyone, and you don't want to leave us. Why would you? You've lived here all

your life—we all have. This is home."

He stared at her. Moira, so pretty and cute and helpless-looking . .. Moira, the most intuitive person

he'd ever met. "Sometimes you're scary, you know?"

She smirked. "Of course." Her smile dropped away. "I'm only annoyed I didn't figure it out sooner. But

Derik ... as you know perfectly well, one Pack cannot support two alphas. It just can't. That's why there

are fights for dominance. That's why you have to leave. Now. Today."

"But Moira, I—"

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MaryJaniceDavidson BERKLEYSENSATION,NEWYORKTHEBERKLEYPUBLISHINGGROUPPublishedbythePenguinGroupPenguinGroup(USA)Inc.375HudsonStreet,NewYork,NewYork10014,USA Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseitheraretheproductoftheauthor'simaginationorareusedfictitiously,andanyresemblancetoa...

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