He kicked the door, wincing at the idea of possible damage to his highly polished boot, and waited for Yuri to answer.
Fortunately, the Russian had taken his advice and gone directly home. Yuri opened the door, grimaced and stepped aside. Cort carried the girl to the moth-eaten sofa that graced what passed for a sitting room and laid her down, taking care not to jar her.
“Chyort,” Yuri swore. “What are we supposed to do with her?”
Cort took off his hat and hung it from the hook on the wall by the door. “That is my concern.”
“It’s as much mine as yours as long as she is here. I trust that will not be long.”
“I do not intend to keep her,” Cort said, returning to the sofa.
“Even a day is too much. Cochrane is not easily thwarted. He will have no difficulty in finding us.”
That was indeed a danger, but Cort was in no mood to cower in fear from a man like Cochrane. “You are free to move on if you wish, Baron Chernikov.”
Yuri drew himself up. “I am no coward.”
“Bien. If she has any family in the city, we shall find out soon enough.”
“Family? What family would allow this to happen?”
Indeed. There were few enough werewolves in this part of California, and those of any honor would hardly permit one of their own young females to roam alone on the streets or be exposed to the rough elements of San Francisco’s less polished neighborhoods. Yet it was also true that most of the loups-garous with whom Cort was personally acquainted were hardly models of virtue—lone wolves all, making temporary alliances with each other only when circumstances demanded it.
“I don’t know,” Cort said, “but as she is loup-garou, I do not believe she can be completely cut off from her own kind.”
The Russian’s eyes widened. “She is oboroten?”
Cort gave a curt nod, and Yuri breathed a laugh. “Ah. Now I see why you saved her.”
“I would have done the same had she been human.”
“Would you?” Yuri brooded as he looked the girl over. “Werewolf females don’t usually wander about in the city unescorted, do they?”
“Not as a matter of course. The men who took her could have had no idea what she was.”
“Then—” Suddenly Yuri grinned, showing his even white teeth. “Someone must want her back very much.”
“Naturally. There are only two established loup-garou families in San Francisco. If she doesn’t belong to them, we will inquire—” He broke off, struck again by his own stupidity. It should have occurred to him the moment he recognized what she was—hell, he should have thought of it when he first set out to win her.
“We could get back some of what you lost,” Yuri went on, recognizing Cort’s comprehension. “Most of it, in fact, if we handle this correctly.”
“You do realize that we are speaking of loups-garous?”
“You are one of them. Have you lost confidence in your ability to charm anyone you wish to?”
He had certainly not charmed Cochrane. There were limits even to his abilities.
But Yuri was right. There was no reason why they shouldn’t benefit from Cort’s act of charity while restoring the girl to her own people. It would, indeed, have to be handled carefully, and it would be necessary to make the girl fully aware of what he had done. A little gratitude on her part would go a long way.
Rubbing his hands, Yuri paced across the room. “As soon as she is well again, you must visit these families. I will look out for Cochrane.”
Cort turned back to the girl. “She has been given far too much opium. The fact that she is loup-garou means she is likely to recover with rest and care, but she must be watched carefully.”
The Russian clapped his hands, in high good humor. “I will leave that to you.”
“After you make yourself useful by fetching water and a cloth.”
Yuri shrugged and went into the bedroom. Left in peace for the first time in hours, Cort studied the girl as he had not had the chance to do before. The vividness of her eyes was hidden, and her virginal gown had seemed opaque from Cort’s place at the table, but now he could see that the cloth, molding as it did to the curves of her body, concealed nothing at all.
And what it did not conceal almost brought him to his feet. She was most decidedly not a child. Her breasts were small and firm, the nipples pale brown and delicate. But her body was very much a woman’s, down to the soft triangle of blond hair between her thighs.
“Ha!”
Yuri’s triumphant shout brought Cort around in a movement so sharp and swift that the Russian was forced to skip back several feet to avoid Cort’s clenched fist. Cort quickly lowered his arm, but he knew what Yuri had seen: the rough, hot-tempered, uncivilized boy Cort had been when he’d left Louisiana. The boy who still refused to be silenced after all the years Cort had worked to bury him.
The grin on Yuri’s face broadened. “Well,” he said, “I believe this is the first time I have ever been able to catch you unaware.”
Cort relaxed. “Should I be on my guard against you, mon ami?”
Yuri harrumphed, offered Cort a towel and basin of water from the washstand in the bedroom, peered at the girl and frowned. Cort recognized the very moment when he saw what Cort had seen. He glanced at Cort, eyes narrowed.
“Perhaps it is not I whom you should guard against,” he said.
Cort set down the basin, strode into the bedroom, and returned with his pillow and the tattered blanket that served as his sole bed covering. He dropped the pillow at one end of the sofa and spread the blanket over the girl, touching her as little as possible.
“You should go to bed, Yuri,” he said coldly.
“She is no child.”
“She is young enough.”
Pursing his lips, Yuri stepped back. “Just as you say.” He turned again for the adjoining room, his expression thoughtful. Cort felt an unaccountable burst of irritation, which he quickly suppressed. He picked up one of the cloths Yuri had brought, dipped it in the basin and hesitated.
She is young enough. He’d said that not only for Yuri’s benefit but for his own. How young—or not—might be revealed when he cleaned the paint from her face.
Cort wrung out the cloth and brushed it over the girl’s cheek. The paint came off on the towel, and the water made streaks across her face like the tracks of tears. Her lips, gently curved, parted on a moan.
When she subsided into silence again Cort finished cleaning her face as best he could, allowing himself to pretend that his hand was separate from the rest of his body and that his eyes saw nothing but a girl in
