The Patient Wolf (Wicked Urban Fantasy #1) by Karen Hodges Miller Page A
Authors: Karen Hodges Miller
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dress.”
Chapter 15
When Alexander came to the door that evening, Ana was glad she had followed Lindsey’s fashion advice. He was dressed, as usual, impeccably, in a two-button designer suit of smooth grey wool with a grey shirt and grey silk tie and his favorite Patek Phillipe watch.
Ana still felt she didn’t look sophisticated enough in her black lace dress from the sale rack at Dillard’s. It had seemed so elegant when she tried it on in her bedroom for Lindsey, but beside Alexander’s sartorial splendor, she felt like a country bumpkin. At least the pearls added a touch of class, she thought. And Alexander didn’t seem to notice how dowdy she felt.
“You look very beautiful my dear,” he said, as they walked to his car in the late afternoon sunshine. Joe, she noticed, was raking leaves on his front lawn—or he had been. He’d given up all pretense of yard work and was staring at the car that was parked in front of Ana’s house.
“This is beautiful,” Ana said, running her hand over the sleek, black machine as Alexander helped her into it. “What kind of car is it? I have no idea.”
“A Lamborgini Huracan,” he told her as he got into the driver’s seat. “She has a 600 hp, 5.2-liter V10 engine with a seven-speed dual clutch transmission and will get to 100 kph in 2.5 seconds.”
“Oh,” Ana said in a small voice.
Alexander laughed. “That is about sixty miles per hour. Top speed is about two hundred miles per hour.” He revved the engine and gave a wave to Joe. “Your neighbor seems to appreciate good cars,” he said as the headed down the street, at a slightly more sedate pace than one hundred kilometers.
“I appreciate good cars. But I’ve never driven in anything like this. My brother had a 1968 Shelby Mustang for a little while. He let me drive it once. That’s the closest I’ve come to any kind of supercar.”
“The original Shelby Mustangs were good muscle cars, but this is much, much more.”
They continued to talk about cars as they drove through town and into the countryside. Alexander revved the engine and let the car out when they reached a long, straight stretch of two-lane road. Ana tried to surreptitiously hang onto the door handle, but the man (damn him for being so observant) still noticed and laughed. “Don’t worry, Chérie, I’m a very good driver,” he said.
“By the way, we are going to a little restaurant I’ve heard about that is about an hour from here. I wanted to get away from Rivelou. Find someplace where we could have a private evening and not run into colleagues or your family,” he told her. “It is called The Strawberry Moon. An interesting name.”
Ana just shook her head in resignation. “It’s an Algonquin name for the June full moon, when the strawberries are in season. And the restaurant is lovely. I’ve been there several times. It is owned by some friends of my grandfather,” she told him.
“No escape, then?” Alexander asked lightly.
“No escape,” she replied, grinning back at him.
The mention of her grandfather brought a knot to Ana’s stomach. She did not want to tell Alexander her grandfather was summoning him. The man he had met at the flea market was the pleasant, eccentric character her grandfather often played with people he didn’t know well. It was disarming and appealing, and if they were lucky, they never saw the other side of the man.
Yes, her grandfather loved her. Yes, he had indulged her, maybe, as he had said, more than any of his other grandchildren. But at his core, he was both a traditionalist and a practical leader. He had supported the development of PackNet, a private “dark web” where paranormals of all types, from shapeshifters to vampires to witches and more, could exchange information safely. He was the one who spearheaded the drive to change what they called themselves: from “werewolf” to “shapeshifter.” The newer term held
Chapter 15
When Alexander came to the door that evening, Ana was glad she had followed Lindsey’s fashion advice. He was dressed, as usual, impeccably, in a two-button designer suit of smooth grey wool with a grey shirt and grey silk tie and his favorite Patek Phillipe watch.
Ana still felt she didn’t look sophisticated enough in her black lace dress from the sale rack at Dillard’s. It had seemed so elegant when she tried it on in her bedroom for Lindsey, but beside Alexander’s sartorial splendor, she felt like a country bumpkin. At least the pearls added a touch of class, she thought. And Alexander didn’t seem to notice how dowdy she felt.
“You look very beautiful my dear,” he said, as they walked to his car in the late afternoon sunshine. Joe, she noticed, was raking leaves on his front lawn—or he had been. He’d given up all pretense of yard work and was staring at the car that was parked in front of Ana’s house.
“This is beautiful,” Ana said, running her hand over the sleek, black machine as Alexander helped her into it. “What kind of car is it? I have no idea.”
“A Lamborgini Huracan,” he told her as he got into the driver’s seat. “She has a 600 hp, 5.2-liter V10 engine with a seven-speed dual clutch transmission and will get to 100 kph in 2.5 seconds.”
“Oh,” Ana said in a small voice.
Alexander laughed. “That is about sixty miles per hour. Top speed is about two hundred miles per hour.” He revved the engine and gave a wave to Joe. “Your neighbor seems to appreciate good cars,” he said as the headed down the street, at a slightly more sedate pace than one hundred kilometers.
“I appreciate good cars. But I’ve never driven in anything like this. My brother had a 1968 Shelby Mustang for a little while. He let me drive it once. That’s the closest I’ve come to any kind of supercar.”
“The original Shelby Mustangs were good muscle cars, but this is much, much more.”
They continued to talk about cars as they drove through town and into the countryside. Alexander revved the engine and let the car out when they reached a long, straight stretch of two-lane road. Ana tried to surreptitiously hang onto the door handle, but the man (damn him for being so observant) still noticed and laughed. “Don’t worry, Chérie, I’m a very good driver,” he said.
“By the way, we are going to a little restaurant I’ve heard about that is about an hour from here. I wanted to get away from Rivelou. Find someplace where we could have a private evening and not run into colleagues or your family,” he told her. “It is called The Strawberry Moon. An interesting name.”
Ana just shook her head in resignation. “It’s an Algonquin name for the June full moon, when the strawberries are in season. And the restaurant is lovely. I’ve been there several times. It is owned by some friends of my grandfather,” she told him.
“No escape, then?” Alexander asked lightly.
“No escape,” she replied, grinning back at him.
The mention of her grandfather brought a knot to Ana’s stomach. She did not want to tell Alexander her grandfather was summoning him. The man he had met at the flea market was the pleasant, eccentric character her grandfather often played with people he didn’t know well. It was disarming and appealing, and if they were lucky, they never saw the other side of the man.
Yes, her grandfather loved her. Yes, he had indulged her, maybe, as he had said, more than any of his other grandchildren. But at his core, he was both a traditionalist and a practical leader. He had supported the development of PackNet, a private “dark web” where paranormals of all types, from shapeshifters to vampires to witches and more, could exchange information safely. He was the one who spearheaded the drive to change what they called themselves: from “werewolf” to “shapeshifter.” The newer term held
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