Luck of the Wolf by Susan Krinard Page B

before,” she said. “What did they want?”
    He was quiet for a long time. “There is someone else who may be after you,” he said. “A man came to me this afternoon. He claimed he knew you.”
    Aria sat up straight. “Who was he?” she asked. “What did he say?”
    â€œHugo Brecht,” he said slowly. “Do you know him?”
    She shook her head, disappointed and relieved at the same time. “I have never heard his name before. Not that I can remember,” she added, recalling her supposed amnesia. “Why would he want me?”
    Leaning back in the chair, Cort blew out his breath and closed his eyes. “Do you remember anything about the place those men took you after they gave you the drugs?”
    â€œThere were lots of voices. And smoke,” she said, trying to sort out the sensations that had made so little sense at the time. “I couldn’t see much at all.”
    â€œDo you know anything about gambling?”
    â€œI know it has something to do with playing cards. That was what you and those men were doing, wasn’t it?”
    â€œFor money, yes. And prizes. You were one of the prizes. And I…” He laced his fingers behind his neck. “I was trying to win you so the other men couldn’t have you.”
    Bad men, he meant. Men who would use her. Not gentlemen, like him.
    â€œAnd you did win,” she said, feeling her nose clog up with tears she didn’t want him to see.
    â€œYes.” He opened his eyes and met her gaze. “But the men who lost were very angry. Some of them still wanted you, for…” He coughed. “Do you know you are very beautiful, Aria?”
    She knew what the word meant, of course, and she sometimes thought the face she saw in the reflection of a lake or pond was pleasant. But no one had ever called her beautiful before.
    â€œMen appreciate beautiful things,” Cort said. “Somewill go to any lengths to get something they consider rare and special. That was why those men wanted you.”
    His words made her feel warm inside, even though she didn’t know why she should be “rare and special.” But she began to understand what Cort was talking about.
    â€œThis man Brecht…” she began.
    â€œI am reasonably certain that he is the one who sent those blackguards after you.”
    â€œBut one of those men was a werewolf.”
    â€œSo is Brecht. He would have even more reason for wanting you, since you are loup-garou, too.”
    She blinked. “But you don’t know him?”
    â€œI have never seen him before. There are loups-garous in the city, lone wolves, who are not affiliated with any family here.”
    He had said something like that before. Aria had a sudden disturbing thought. “Brecht” could be a Carantian name. What if he were one of the exiles she’d been seeking? One of the men who’d brought her to Franz?
    â€œWere other werewolves gambling for me, too?” she asked.
    â€œNot openly. Still, it is quite possible that one or more were doing so through human agents.”
    Had Brecht been one of them? Even if he had been, she couldn’t see how he could be Carantian—or not one of the good Carantians, anyway—when he had sent bad men to take her. And how would he even know that she was Carantian? If the men had only seen her when she was a baby…
    And that brought her back to the most disturbing thought of all: Why had they taken her from America in the first place?
    â€œWe can’t wait any longer to move you to a safer place,” Cort said, completely unaware of her gnawing questions.
    â€œI’m not afraid of them,” Aria said. “They couldn’t win when you and I were fighting together.”
    â€œFor God’s sake, Aria, your naiveté—”
    â€œThat werewolf was bigger than you, but you didn’t have any trouble defeating him.”
    â€œI fought