Contradiction of the Mutant wolf

Nicolai parked his rented SUV in front of Dr. Richard Reinhardt’s log cabin in Portland, situated on forest land with a view of Mt. Hood. A property the doctor normally leased out and never lived in. Why the sudden leave of absence? It had been months since anyone had seen Reinhardt, who, as head of luponomics, and lycan surgery, rarely left werewolf territory. Nicolai’s new boss, head of the LIA and Team Darkwolf, Reid, knew why, but she hadn’t shared. She’d only said his leave was personal and confidential. Deire, his assistant and lover had to know, but she too remained tightlipped.

Reinhardt’s reason for leaving must have been grave. Whatever the motive, Nicolai was here to help. He owed him. Reinhardt had become Nicolai’s savior and friend. The brilliant doctor had not only saved his life, but also made it possible for him to walk again. Dr. Reinhardt’s surgery and use of stem cells repaired his shattered spine. Not only could he run as fast as any alpha werewolf, but Nicolai returned to his original state of being faster, stronger, better. Nicolai had been born a mutant werewolf as a result of the 1986 Chernobyl disaster, and his mutations made him physically superior. Werewolves considered him a freak, and referred to him as Chernobyl werewolf. All feared him, with good reason. Reid called him their weapon of mass destruction. The most dangerous werewolf to ever exist.

In gratitude, Nicolai brought Reinhardt a gift he’d picked up in Moscow. He also wanted reassurance he’d not taken ill. Though if he was sick, why had his beta lover Deire not accompanied him? Divorced from his human wife, Reinhardt was estranged from his only child, a daughter who was also a doctor. A daughter he hadn’t seen in years and who vowed she would never ever see him again. Foolish father and foolish daughter. Like Nicolai, the doctor’s parents had died long ago, and he had no siblings. No family to speak of.

Nicolai stepped out of the car and into the moist drizzle. The aroma of rich soil and volatile oils from the trees emanated a healthy smell. Different from his home. The Red Forest of Chernobyl, one of the most radioactive areas in the world. Such a place was not meant for living creatures. He was the exception.

His smile wavered. He should have at least texted Reinhardt of his visit.

Nicolai promised Reinhardt if he walked again, he’d bring him the best Russian vodka money could buy and a special Russian souvenir. Reinhardt said if Nicolai was ever well enough to visit Moscow to bring him back an authentic samovar. Nicolai spent good cash on a rare red bronze imperial samovar. If something was wrong, a welcomed surprise might lighten his mood. Certainly, the vodka would. He opened the back of the SUV and took out the samovar packed in the case and then grabbed the bottle.

As he closed the door, an irresistible aromatic scent embedded with the sweetest blood he’d ever smelled overwhelmed his senses. He inhaled. Intoxicating. The sweet delicate floral scent of snowdrop bulbs as if the flowers emerged from January snow, bringing the bloom of spring into the winter of his cold senses.

The glorious aroma was human, female, and coming from Dr. Reinhardt’s home. He narrowed his eyes and sniffed for Reinhardt. The doctor’s scent permeated the area, but not currently home. Odd. The female was. Had he broken up with Deire? That would explain his sudden need for isolation. A pissed off jealous she-wolf would drive away even the bravest werewolf. But Reinhardt was human so that might explain suddenly abandoning his critical research. No. Deire would not break lycan law and harm him. She’d get over it or be delivered to the enforcer for discipline.

A desire to release his wolf and stalk the female overwhelmed him, but nonetheless he remained in control of the bear-sized Chernobyl wolf.

Nicolai straightened his black leather jacket and rang the doorbell.

No one answered. He should return later, after calling Reinhardt. That would be polite, yet his wolf was bewitched. Whoever lay in wait inside the house belonged to him. Nicolai shook his head. Not possible. He would never take a mate. A lover, perhaps, but nobody long term. Certainly, not a weak human. And not one in a relationship with the doctor who saved his life.

The woman might not be Reinhardt’s lover, but a patient. As sweet as her blood smelled, the blood had residual corruption as if she’d been poisoned.

I’m such an idiot. Of course. His daughter. That would explain the blood type so addictive to lycans. Reinhardt had confided his daughter had Stalion’s blood type and like the enforcer’s mate, was human, but with the ability to have lycan children of superior blood. Too bad Reinhardt didn’t want his daughter ever involved with werewolves. He respected their kind, his daughter should live in human society to practice medicine, marry and someday start a family. Nicolai understood. Life amongst lycans was a cultural hardship for humans. Strict pack status rules placed humans below omegas. Pets. Because Dr. Reinhardt had saved many werewolves during combat and contributed so much to werewolf genetics research, he’d been given beta status.

The soft shuffle of feet reached the entrance. The female.

He swore and turned to leave when the door opened.

“Can I help you?”

Nicolai turned and gaped. The woman, in her twenties, dressed in a light wool robe over baggy pajamas looked up at him with enchanting amber eyes that matched her golden blonde curls, messily tied in a ponytail. Much too thin. Despite her disheveled look, perhaps after a debilitating illness, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Krasivaya, dusha-devitsa. He whispered the translation. “Beautiful, pretty maiden.”

She met his eyes and gazed. Entranced. Not moving, not speaking, not reacting. As if she was a mesmerist’s victim, she waited for his next command.

Such beautiful eyes. The color of expensive Baltic amber. Nicolai could drown in them and die happy.

She tilted her head, exposing her carotid artery. Teasing his wolf to sink his fangs into her soft throat. The pretty maiden desired him.

Nicolai shook his head. What was he thinking? He’d unknowingly rendered her mute with his alpha magnetism. All werewolves had some mind control over humans, but his ability was superior to even the most gifted alpha werewolves. He’d promised Team Darkwolf he’d never mesmerize humans, unless necessary and then only in a life and death situation. And never to submit to his sexual desires.

Nicolai released her mind and snapped his fingers to distract her momentarily from meeting his gaze.

She pressed her hand against her forehead and shook her head. “I’m sorry I just zoned out.” Even her voice played like music to his ears. Her accent was from the West Coast of America.

“I’m sorry to have disturbed you. I expected Dr. Richard Reinhardt.”

“And you are?”

“Nicolai Dimitrov, a former patient.”

“Really? Richard said he no longer practiced medicine. Not since working for some research center.”

She didn’t call him father. Odd, she smelled related to him. “Ah, he’s a friend or uncle then?”

“Richard, no, he’s my biological father.”

His body tensed. Nicolai still mourned his beloved father and couldn’t imagine such a lack of respect. Only in America did one call one’s parent by their name. Then again, he was told she’d been raised by her mom and stepfather. Why should he rationalize her insolence?

Damn. Something about her kept Nicolai enthralled. Her blood of course. He needed to get the hell out of here, before his wolf took the maiden for his. “His daughter…”

“Lisa.” She tightened her robe as if suddenly embarrassed about her comfortable sloppiness. How easy it would be for him to shred her robe and take in her nakedness.

“I brought him a gift from Russia.” He picked up the box and handed her the bottle of vodka.

“Thank you.” Lisa took it, but narrowed a glance at the box. “Open it before I let you bring it inside.”

Good for her, a suspicious woman. “Certainly.” He slowly knelt as if she had a gun pointed at him and opened the crate. Not that shooting him would hurt. Normal bullets wouldn’t kill him. He unwrapped the samovar and lifted it as he stood, allowing her a close inspection.

Her eyes brightened. “Beautiful, my grandmother had a samovar, but nothing like this. Please, bring it in.”

His wolf stirred, but he collared the beast back to the den. His reaction was only biological, because of her blood, nothing more. He should leave before he betrayed the man who saved his life by doing things to his daughter no father would approve of. He scanned the living room cluttered with books. “I’ll put the samovar by the fireplace.”