Chapter Thirty-four
I was grateful to be spared an encounter with Sullivan before I was ready. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be.
What I’d love to do was hightail it out of New Orleans and never come back, but I still hadn’t found .
Katie. I was starting to think I wouldn’t.
Adam drove us into town. Diana remained behind to deal with Sullivan. “I’ll take him home, get him settled, talk to his boss.”
“I will take care of the rest,” Edward murmured.
I took “the rest” to mean the hospital, the doctors, the EMTs, the police who’d handled his case. Edward would be busy for a while.
Late afternoon sunshine slanted over the roof of Rising Moon as Adam pulled to a stop at the curb.
Through the big front windows, King was visible behind the bar.
“Don’t leave town, Grandpère. I wouldn’t like having to come after you.”
“He’s hardly going to leave town before he finds that last werewolf and ends the curse,” I said sharply.
“What she said.” John climbed out of the car and headed inside.
Adam watched him go with a concerned expression. “Be careful.”
I got out of the car too. “He isn’t Henri Ruelle. Not anymore.”
“I hope to God you’re right.” Adam drove away.
As I stepped into the club, King came out from behind the bar and trailed in John’s wake. I shut the door, flipped the sign to closed, and engaged the lock just as King snagged John’s arm.
Expecting an outcry as pain erupted in both of their heads, I was surprised when John merely stopped and stared pointedly at King’s hand.
King withdrew it with a wary gaze. He seemed almost scared, and while that was ludicrous considering King had a good six inches and probably a hundred pounds on Rodolfo, with the strength of a werewolf, John could no doubt toss King across the room without even trying.
“How can he touch you?” I murmured.
“He isn’t the boss of me,” King snapped.
“No, I didn’t mean—” I gestured vaguely. “The headache. When werewolves touch skin to skin.”
Understanding spread across King’s face.
“He’s not a werewolf.” John’s voice was weary. “He’s a lougaro. Sometimes a wolf, sometimes a cat, a pig—anything he desires he can become by performing the spell. He’s not infected by a virus that alters his genetic makeup.”
“You were cursed,” I said. “Not bitten. Your DNA should be the same as mine.”
“The curse made me a lycanthrope in every way. I’m merely compelled to shift on the nights of the crescent moon.”
“How can you be certain your DNA is different?”
“When I bite people, they become like me.”
A horrible thought came to mind. If lycanthropy was a virus passed through bodily fluids… Well, I’d been exchanging a lot of fluids with John Rodolfo.
My fears must have shown on my face. I’d never been very good at hiding things. “Only through the bite in wolf form, chica. There’s no other way.” He stared at me for a long minute, then whispered, “You can’t think I’d make you like me.”
“No. Of course not.”
But what if he didn’t want to be alone? What if he wanted someone to share eternity with? What would I say if he asked me?
I’d say no. Because if John bit me I wouldn’t be like him, I’d be like Henri. And while I hadn’t met the man, not really, I’d heard enough to know I’d rather be dead than a werewolf like that.
“Where are your sunglasses, Johnny?” King asked.
John patted his shirt pocket and withdrew them.
“You need to keep wearing those,” King said. “Folks might get a little freaked out by your sudden ability to see.”