The Last Wolf Fae (A Wolf Fae Saga Book 1)

by T M Caruana

  T.M. Caruana

  The Last Wolf Fae

  Copyright © 2019 by T.M. Caruana

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  T.M. Caruana asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  T.M. Caruana has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

  Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

  First edition

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  Contents

  PREPARATIONS

  THE DEAL

  SARAH JOHNSON

  CONNOR WHITEMORE

  WALLACE LOWMAN

  SIMON FIRELL

  JENNIFER SALOMON

  ALEXANDRE BUITONI

  JOANNE GOODWIN

  TONY GARCIA

  JOLIE COBER

  JADEN MCRYAN

  TASHA MOORE

  NAGU NAGAR

  GAME ON

  SPLASH OUT

  FORMING ALLIANCES

  SUDDEN DEATH

  GROWING CONSCIENCE

  EXTRACTION

  HIDE AND SEEK

  TURNING WINDS

  MURDERER ON THE LOOSE

  ALL CONTRIBUTIONS ADD UP

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Food is the world’s most valuable commodity.

  Everyone needs it, everyone would die without it,

  And everyone would kill for it.

  Wasting it is a crime against those who die needing it.

  1

  PREPARATIONS

  “Don’t go in there,” called Joanne Goodwin, the loyal secretary of fifteen years, from behind her meticulously organised desk.

  Jaden McRyan was no longer a rookie in the Federal Agricultural Organisation (FAO). He had now become a valued member, and therefore despised Joanne’s dispassionate warning. Fifteen years she had sat on that chair, only lifting a finger to press the buttons on her intercom. She had no awareness of the work undertaken by the FAO, and she certainly had no interest in learning, now that she was approaching her retirement.

  “Why not? I have booked the room,” defended Jaden snappily, just wanting her to be bothered enough to check her calendar.

  Simultaneously, he was trying to balance a pile of papers and books to prevent them from falling out of his hands. At the same time he could sense him being arrogantly judged for his untidy black arrangement of hair and his young face that hadn’t even seen the world for thirty years yet. Jaden wrinkled his nose as he could scent the black-backed jackal smell all over her. They were a foul breed; backstabbers. Her human form evidenced it perfectly. Their simple mindfulness could never be compared to a full blood grey wolf like himself.

  “The directors are using it for an urgent unscheduled meeting. They’re not to be disturbed,” she lectured from her recently Restylane-filled lips.

  Jaden was fuming under the weight of his documents and the body warmth of having walked up two flights of stairs. Not to mention his aggravation at wasting the amount of work he had put in planning the meeting. He made a deep growl. Joanne was gloating. She showed her signature smirk; the display of almighty importance when declining him access to the meeting-room at the directors’ orders.

  “It’s typical that they don’t have to obey the scheduling rules whilst we commoners do,” Jaden spat discontentedly, but at the same time gave Joanne a worried look.

  “The directors wouldn’t meet if it wasn’t important and urgent. I’m quite certain that their issues are far more pressing than yours. And no, I don’t have any gossip as to what it’s about.”

  Joanne flipped her shoulder-length dark blonde hair and addressed her stern pale grey eyes at Jaden as an indicator that he should leave it alone. She knew how curious he was and didn’t want the meeting to spread concerns amongst the employees, resulting from any unjustified coffee break gossip.

  “Sure, sure,” Jaden murmured, not paying attention to her, as his mind had wandered off into wild imaginings.

  He turned his back towards Joanne so as to be able to gently sniff the air without her taking note. Recently there had been four wolf-shifters passing through the reception. Three were full blood grey wolves and the last one, which was the most disturbing; a red wolf. And not any red wolf – their alpha. Letting his eyes wonder he noticed that Joanne had realised what he was doing. He dug his face in behind the pile of books to hide his shame at sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.

  “You will let me know when they have finished so I can use it, right?”

  “I’ll reschedule you for Wednesday next week at eight in the morning, how does that sound?”

  Jaden moaned. He had over an hour commute from his house to the office since moving out to the suburbs last year, after having decided city life wasn’t for him.

  “Sounds very early,” he complained, knowing that if a wolf-matter came up he would have little sleep that night, “but I will take it.”

  Jaden had worked his way up from being a mail-boy to become a member of the research department and knew that the time slots for this meeting-room, the boardroom, were precious and hard to come by. He had worked alongside Joanne, for what seemed ages, and that was probably the only reason she had fitted him in so soon. He made a dissatisfied snort and barged out.

  “And Mr McRyan,” Joanne called after him just as he was about to make a grab for the door handle; in a risky balancing act, “don’t disappoint me with a last minute cancellation. There are plenty of nights for howling at the moon.”

  Joanne obviously knew they were both wolves due to their sensitive nose. Wolves had a scent that other wolves would notice, but to which humans would be oblivious. Being a jackal, Joanne belonged to the grey pack, yet she was expected to follow the same strict pack rules as a pure grey wolf.

  He tried to smile and felt a punching guilt hitting his chest. He knew she had done him a favour, both as a co-worker and for being of another breed, and it would be extremely rude not to show up for the appointment.

  “Of course not. Thank you Joanne. I really appreciate it,” he firmly responded to show her that he had understood the insinuated message.

  After Jaden had left, Joanne brought out four booklets, which she had urgently hidden in a tray, away from sight, when she had heard Jaden coming. They were booklets containing statistics collected by the CEO of the Animal Rights Agency (ARA), Elizabeth von Wisehouse, which Joanne had been assigned to deliver after the four highly influential people had finished mingling over breakfast. A task Joanne hadn’t been given a chance to refuse as the full blood grey wolf had stormed in at the last minute; her green coat half unbuttoned, her br
own hair tied in a flimsy windswept ponytail resembling a bird’s nest and her face without make-up. She had blasted her intense green eyes at Joanne when giving her the instructions.

  Joanne flipped her wrist so that her watch would display the time. In ten minutes she would have to lift her bottom off the comfortable office chair to deliver the content to the participants. As a jackal, she only aimed to work satisfactorily until she could claim her pension money, and couldn’t care less about who was in the meeting. Jackals were not known to be particularly fond of belonging to their packs and the only one she had to answer to was the grey wolf alpha, Paw. But not many had come across him. To Joanne he remained only a legend of a grey wolf, so refined he was almost white. He was said to be as big as a Grand Piano with teeth as long as an ink pen, that easily could penetrate through a human body. His eyes glowed yellow in the dark and his howl would make any other wolf in his pack surrender to his call. But, Joanne had never met him.

  She looked down at the other three names listed on the booklet’s cover page in the ‘For the attention of’ section. The first one being their own organisation’s CEO and representative, Anne Knightsworth and the second being Sir John Eagleman, CEO of the Government’s Special Projects Team; both of them full blood grey wolf-shifters. Joanne snorted as she read the last name of the alpha of the grey wolves’ rival pack – the red wolf pack; Alfred Quinton, a Member of Parliament with the Conservative Party.

  These people hadn’t come to mingle over breakfast because they enjoyed it – they would prefer meat over croissants any day. They all were busy officials and wouldn’t waste time socialising with rival breeds. What were they up to?

  2

  THE DEAL

  On the other side of the secretary’s wall, coffee had been devoured, but the croissants had been left untouched; starting to attract the flies. No one had time, or cared enough, for pleasantries and they had jumped straight into a heated discussion involving all four officials’ standpoints.

  “Life on Earth isn’t sustainable if it carries on at this rate. We will starve within the next five hundred years,” declared Liz von Wisehouse, as soon as she had been supplied with her own statistics booklet by the lazy secretary who would have fallen over had she walked any slower.

  Her adrenaline was racing through her body and she felt a strong urge for a sprint, nonetheless she flicked through the research report laid on the solid mahogany boardroom table. Although she had strong wolf instincts; always ready for a snack, she was too concerned that the lack of food in the world would result in the wolves’ need to start nibbling on humans, hence she herself had long since given up meat all together.

  The tense atmosphere caused her to repeatedly press the button of her pen, producing the clicking sound, which seemed to increasingly annoy her opponents.

  One opponent, Sir John Eagleman, was a pompous know-it-all who didn’t share Liz’s view on the shortage of food resources, emphasised that meat is meat, no matter where it comes from. He leaned back, pressing his fat belly into the black leather chair and exasperatedly stroked his bald forehead. The few grey strands at the top of his head showed a receding hairline in comparison to the sides.

  “You are talking nonsense Liz. Is this one of those premature crisis meetings you tend to organise every time you feel like having a tantrum and attracting attention?” he asked apparently unimpressed, as he scratched his beard with his chubby fingers.

  “You are incredible. Do you know that? Here I am, trying to help save the humans, and you spit insults in my face,” Liz defended, worried that her audience wouldn’t listen to what she had to say.

  “Stop it you two,” interrupted Anne Knightsworth, the oldest of the participants.

  She was the most knowledgeable on historic events concerning food production and consumption, however possibly not the most relevant person to lead the modern discussions towards a better future – according to Liz.

  “Do we always have to argue on a personal level? Liz, go ahead and just tell us the facts so we can minute the outcome and get home on time,” she politely suggested, although appearing completely uninterested, as she yawned deeply.

  “In time for what Anne? To fatten up your cats?” mocked Alfred Quinton, who knew her tiredness came from old age and laziness rather than nocturnal work duties.

  Although, being the youngest of them all, his intelligence and hard work had made him equally worthy of the others’ respect. This was despite the fact that he also was the alpha of the red wolf pack after his father had past away last spring. The red wolves had long since held a specific treaty agreement with the grey wolves and hence, no public rivalry battles had ever been witnessed. The great-great-grandfathers of both clans had once fought in a battle together, where the red alpha had saved the grey alpha’s life. He had been awarded a sanctuary territory from the significantly larger grey wolf clan on Canvey Island, just north of the Thames estuary. No wolf has ever dared to question the Blue Wolfprint documents and hence, Alfred was superior in this meeting due to this protection.

  Sir John shook his head, apparently baffled at how Alfred shamelessly insulted the CEO of the FAO. Surely he knew the position she held in her field. Alfred detected the hint and thought better of the personal attack and didn’t launch another one.

  “That’s unnecessary,” murmured Liz quietly, defending Anne, her only hope of an alliance.

  Her defence was only a murmur, as any direct attention from Alfred had the effect of making her blush. He overwhelmed her with his status, quick wits and his sexy appeal. His ocean blue eyes and black wavy hair were in perfect contrast to his cream coloured skin. His tidy eyebrows and sharply sculptured stubble showed a man who cared for his appearance. Liz hoped her comment would go unnoticed, however Alfred put on his best charm, making her wish she’d never opened her mouth.

  “Not really, no, I just wanted to point out the fact that we’re in a world crisis and hence our information,” Alfred said and tapped the booklet with his pen, “should be considered highly important. This isn’t a topic that can be discussed light-heartedly just to get it over and done with.”

  There it was, Liz felt her cheeks burn, and started fanning herself with her booklet, to tone them down as soon as possible. Blushing like a little girl would inspire no authority in this crowd.

  “So, as I was saying,” Liz voiced loudly, and carried on to report her findings, “the ratio of speed by which we can raise chattels compared to the growing population of the human race isn’t sustainable for the future. These statistics also take into consideration our concerns over emerging viruses during recent years, which have significantly deteriorated farmed produce.”

  “With all due respect, Miss Wisehouse, you aren’t really here to make an argument for the breakeven point in food consumption are you?” Alfred interrupted in an apparent attempt at weakening her confidence.

  She could see he was toying with her. Throwing her out as bait and then reeling her in. Claiming control, a puppet. She was a grey wolf and hence he had no alpha control over her. She was under Dacry’s, command, since let’s face it, no one had ever seen Paw. This meant that it would be harder to persuade her to join him, even if they did fight for the same cause. His charm seemed to work. She certainly seemed affected by him.

  “Von,” she added in correction.

  “Von?” Alfred automatically queried, puzzled.

  “Von Wisehouse, from house of…” she started saying, but waved it off, “it doesn’t matter,” she babbled as they had gone off the topic. “The fact of the matter is…”

  “Oh, pardon milady,” Alfred mocked and spoke over Liz again. “You’re ultimately going to arrive at the conclusion that animals have feelings and should be treated like babies dressed in fashionable wear. So spare our time and get to the point.”

  “Alright,” she agreed, feeling insulted as she searched for the statistics in her booklet. “Were you aware that fifty-six billion animals are slaughtered every year, not including the mil
lions of tons taken from our sea life? Chickens are cramped into small cages, stripped of their beaks so they can’t harm each other and without ever having experienced sunlight. Male chicks, unworthy of living a second day are suffocated or minced alive. Cows are victim to forced impregnations so that they can provide milk in abnormally high quantities, and then their calves are taken away from them at birth. What should be a twenty-five-year long life is cut short at five. The females stand up in small areas, being milked for hours and up to fifty per cent are affected by painful conditions such as mastitis and lameness. Males are killed at birth unless bred for veal; those veal calves who have just been separated from their mothers will then be transported in state of high anxiety, on long uncomfortable journeys to maintain their freshness before being slaughtered.”

  “Thank you for your, ‘facts’, Liz,” Sir John interjected sarcastically. “These aren’t new facts. Aren’t we aware of these circumstances already?” he complained and fanned his suit jacket open, as a signal for Anne to put on the air-conditioning.

  “I didn’t believe you knew of them, as nothing is done about it,” Liz bit off angrily. “Pigs,” she voiced loudly to indicate that she wasn’t finished, “are clever animals and fully aware of their own existence. They enjoy playing, sunbathing and taking in identifiable pleasurable smells. They suffer a similar fate to cows,” she said bitterly and closed her booklet with a forceful flip to show that she wasn’t going to go into the details on wastage of consumables and had argued her core point.

  “So what would you have us do Liz? Campaign for the humans to become vegans? And what about us wolves? Not all of us have the restraint to stay off meat as you have. Ignoring our breed for a moment, launching a campaign like this would cost the government an unnecessary amount of money and it wouldn’t save many animals,” Alfred challenged insincerely.

  “It would save around a hundred animals per…human, per year and thousands in a lifetime,” she retorted, excluding wolf-shifters in the equation. “I bet all of your family and friends would be dead within the year with those numbers, if roles were reversed,” she counterattacked insinuating he wasn’t very liked and didn’t even have a hundred friends or family members – not counting pack members.