“Ulrik?”
“Yes,” Fenris said. “You and I cannot defeat him ourselves, but I have friends. We will watch for a while, see what we can learn, then go to my friends.”
Skandar was not in favor of that. Fenris knew the Old One still suspected he’d had something to do with the disappearance of Lucas, the first werewolf to help Skandar. He was correct, of course. It would not do to have another werewolf, even one who professed loyalty to Fenris and his cause, knowing that an Old One had returned to human form. He’d gone to Lucas during the man’s cycle, hunted with him while Skandar slept in a cave where they’d sheltered, and when Lucas did not expect it, Fenris jumped him, tearing his throat open before the Frenchman had a clue anything was amiss. In human form, he dug a shallow grave and covered it with stones, then returned to the cave and feigned surprise when Lucas never returned.
They had remained within fifty miles of Ulrik’s mansion, but had learned very little. Unlike the loose net of security Ulrik had kept around Shara while she denied the wolf for those years she lived in Montana, now protection was tight. There were wolves patrolling the forest and they seldom left its shadows. Wolves and men with rifles were stationed on the lone mountain looming behind the house, and the natives in the village along the roadway leading to the house were tight-lipped and suspicious of the spies Fenris summoned and sent in. If the spies asked the wrong questions, they were killed. The only information he’d gotten from his spies was that those who were needed would be summoned when they were wanted.
Ulrik had learned his lesson, it seemed. He was protecting the Mother and her brat.
Getting to Joey would be a challenge, Fenris thought as the plane reached cruising altitude. And, maybe, little Jenny Brown would prove more useful than simply someone with whom he could discuss classic literature.
Morrigan
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Morrigan asked, no longer able to keep her eyes on her novel. She continued holding the book before her, but lifted her eyes over it, to where her mother sat across the living room. Her mother sighed before answering.
“I don’t know,” Shara said. “Sometimes I think it’s wrong to raise you up here. There are no kids for you to play with.”
“I don’t mind,” Morrigan answered. “I don’t think I’d like other kids. On TV they seem so childish, or stuck up. Sometimes I think they’re not as smart as they pretend to be on those Disney shows.”
Shara smiled at her. “You’re right,” she said. “Still, there’s nobody here but adults, and some of them …” Her voice trailed off and Morrigan knew she was referring to the Old Ones, like Holle, who were centuries old.
“Isn’t it good that I have them around me?” she asked. “They have a lot they can teach me.”
“I know,” Shara said. “But there’s more to life than that.”
“They have been waiting for me since the world was young and magic was common,” Morrigan answered.
“That’s Holle talking,” Shara said.
Morrigan looked at her mother and wondered why her voice sounded like she was mad at Holle. “No,” she said. “I know it. I see it when I’m asleep.”
Her mother’s forehead wrinkled up like it always did when she was thinking too hard about something. “What do you dream?” she asked.
“A lot of things. Wolves and bears and people. Some of the things I know have already happened. I saw you taking off a long dress made of wolf hair once. But you still had wolf hair on your back. You didn’t know it, though.”
“Is that all?” Shara asked.
“No.” Morrigan wasn’t sure she wanted to tell all her secrets. She wanted to learn, not tell.
“What do you see for your future?” Shara asked.
Now it was Morrigan’s turn to emulate her mother, though she didn’t realize it. Her smooth, childish brow wrinkled and she chewed at her lower lip. “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t see the future so good. Mostly I see old things. I see you with a boy sometimes. Is he my brother?”
Morrigan sensed the sudden tension in her mother. Shara’s body seemed to freeze for an instant and she looked guilty, like Morrigan knew she did when she was caught sneaking cookies. Then Shara’s face went sad and she relaxed.
“Yes,” she said. “Joey. I miss him.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know. With his father,” Shara said.
Morrigan nodded with understanding, remembering the blond-haired man she’d seen with the boy. “His father is different than my father?”
“Yes.”
Morrigan studied that for a moment. She dreamed every night, but the dreams were mostly jumbles of images where people she usually didn’t know were doing things she often didn’t understand. The image of the blond-haired boy, though, came often, and always the word “brother” was associated with him. She wondered what it was really like to have a brother. Would it be like on the American TV shows she watched? Would they argue but love each other? Or would her brother, if he was here, want things that were hers alone? In the dreams, he was usually with Shara. They talked about ice cream once. A lot of time, one or both of them were crying. In one of those dreams she’d seen the man – the boy’s father – pulling the boy away from their mother.
“Did he make you sad?” she asked.
Shara thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. “No. Not really. I’m sad that he’s gone.”
“In my dreams, you and him cry a lot.”
“Those last days we had together were hard,” Shara said. “I thought his father was dead and I felt guilty for falling in love with your father. And there was another woman who wanted to steal Joey from me. She tried to turn him against me.”
“Kiona?” Morrigan asked.
Her mother looked up quickly, her eyes narrowing, then she sighed and nodded. “How do you know these things? Your dreams? Even names?”
“Sometimes,” Morrigan answered. She didn’t want to admit she often heard her mother and father talking in their bedroom, and sometimes she even heard Shara talking in her sleep. “Do you dream about her?”
“Sometimes. Do you … Do you know where Joey is?”
Morrigan hesitated. If she told what she knew about a swamp and a little house with legs, would her mother and father, or Holle, or someone else, even be able to find him? If they did, would they bring him here? She wasn’t sure she wanted him here. Her mom and Holle might like him better than her. Finally, she shook her head.
“No. He’s in the forest, but I don’t know where. He’s older now.”
“Yes,” Shara agreed. “A teenager.”
“Do you love him more than me?”
Morrigan watched her mother’s face soften into a warm smile. “Of course not,” she said. “I only wish you could both be here with me.”
“What about his father?”
Now Shara’s eyes became distant. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “I think he was confused. I understand why he was mad, but he … he wouldn’t listen to me.”
The conversation died away. Morrigan returned to her story about a boy and a dog he called Old Yeller. She pretended to be completely engrossed when, about fifteen minutes later, her father came in and asked Shara to follow him. They went to the kitchen and after a moment Morrigan followed, waiting near the door so she could listen. Her mother greeted them, but Morrigan couldn’t hear the words of the response. She quickly let her head change to the wolf’s head, then pricked her ears forward to hear better.
“Gunther just called in,” Thomas said. “He’s found something bad just about a mile north.”
“Bad?” Shara asked.
“Scat and territorial markings,” Thomas answered.
“From who?” Shara asked.
Morrigan knew from the scents that there were several people in the room. No one else had spoken yet, however.
“We do not know,” Thomas said. “Gunther couldn’t identify them, but both seemed to be alpha males.”
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“Together?” Holle asked.
“Yes,” Thomas answered.
“That’s strange,” Shara added. “No idea at all? No one here?”
“No, it’s no one here,” Thomas said. “Gunther was sure of that.”
“Then we have to assume it was Fenris,” Shara said.
“Aye,” Thomas agreed.
“Gunther is still there?” Shara asked.
“Aye.”
“Tell him to stay put until we get some help up there,” Shara said, and now her voice had that hard edge Morrigan only heard when her mother was angry or giving orders. “Who’ll go? Holle? Will you?”
“Of course,” Holle answered.
“I’m going,” Thomas said. Morrigan knew that’s what she would have said, too. She guessed she was probably more like her dad than her mom. She thought he probably loved her more than Mom, too, because his eyes always lit up when she was around. Mom always seemed to be thinking of something else. Maybe that brother?
“I suppose,” Shara said after a moment. “Be careful. Who else?”
“I will go.” The low, deep voice belonged to Merin Weir, an older man with white hair. Morrigan liked him, though he always seemed sad about something.
“Me too,” Cheryl said.
“Four should be enough,” Shara said. “Two as wolves, two as humans with guns. Track them, but be careful. Don’t engage unless you’re sure you can win.”
Morrigan knew the meeting was about to break up, so she hurried back to her place on the floor in front of a recliner and snatched up her book, bushing away loose wolf hair that had fallen from her face. A moment later, her mother re-entered the living room, trying to pretend nothing was out of the ordinary.
“What do you want for lunch?” Shara asked.
Chris
Chris stopped, his head low to the ground, his nostrils flaring as he breathed deeply of the strange scent. Instinctively, somehow he knew the scent was female, that it was a wolf, and that it was not a natural wolf. It was not Kiona Brokentooth. He pushed his wolfish nose through the leaves and dirt, following the trail.
He was not as good at tracking as Joey and neither of them could match the years of experience Kiona had. However, this werewolf bitch had done nothing to disguise her trail and it was easy to follow. Chris moved as quickly as he dared, one minute keeping his nose low to be sure of the scent, the next raising his head and perking his ears forward to make sure he knew what was ahead of him.
His cycle lasted four days. He was in the third day. When his time came, he liked to be alone. He had never admitted to Kiona that he enjoyed becoming a wolf, that he liked the freedom and power of the beast. It was true enough, but he still hated that she had forced it on him without his consent. Though he liked the solitude and time to himself, he did not really like the idea of leaving Joey unattended with Kiona. Someday, Chris feared, the Indian woman might turn the boy against his father.
Ahead of him, he heard the sound of rustling leaves. Chris stopped and lowered his belly to the ground. Judging by the scent he’d been following, there was only the one female. He lay still, thinking. Then a slight breeze blew over him and he smelled her. She was close. And she had changed shape. The smell of her femininity was soft and alluring. Slowly, Chris edged forward, only a few inches at a time, until he heard his name.
“I mean you no harm, Chris Woodman.”
Her voice was soft, yet confident. He didn’t recognize it, but alarm bells sounded in his head. How does she know me? How did she find me? What about Joey?
“Come and talk with me,” she urged.
Chris stood up and moved forward on stiff legs, his teeth bared, ready to fight. He found the woman sitting under a tree. She was naked and leaning against the cypress as if she belonged there. She had long, slender limbs and blonde hair that fell over her shoulders in waves. Her lips were thin, but her eyes were bright and wise. She had her knees pulled up, her ankles pressed close together, and her arms folded loosely over her knees. She smiled at him as he approached.
“The big bad wolf?” she asked. “Should I be scared, or welcoming?”
She obviously was not scared. Chris sniffed the air again.
“I’m here alone,” she said. “I’ve come to talk to you.”
Chris relaxed and walked toward her, but kept his ears forward, listening for the sound of approaching feet, or lies in her voice.
“I am called Cerdwyn,” she said. She dropped her arms to her sides and crossed her legs in front of her. Chris drank in the sight of her firm breasts and the triangle of blonde hair at her groin. Then he felt guilty for it, but she had noticed his look and she laughed. “I’m not worried about being naked,” she said.
Chris sat and looked at her, wishing he could speak.
“You’re wondering who I am and how I found you,” she said. “And what I want.”
Chris nodded his wolfish head.
“Mother Gaia told me where to find you,” she said. “I am her priestess. I want you and Joey to come live with me.”
That was direct enough, though pretty kooky, Chris thought. Again he wished he could speak. He even opened his mouth to do so before remembering there were no human words available to him.
“I know your time is upon you, Chris. You can’t talk to me. Tomorrow night you can. By then, I hope, I’ll have explained everything to you and convinced you to come with me. See, I chose to make myself known to you now just because you can’t argue with me.” She laughed and it was the laugh of a light-hearted pixie.
The laughter died quickly and she became serious again. “The one you’re with, Kiona Brokentooth, has a dark aura. She always has. Trouble follows her, but evil rolls off her, contaminating the earth before her feet touch it. You shouldn’t be with her.” Suddenly Cerdwyn leaned forward and put her hands on either side of Chris’s head.
“Your aura is pure. I can see it. You are sad and confused. You want something more. You want to do good. You want to be good, and you want the same for your son. I want to help you.”
Chris couldn’t deny that, no more than he could deny the sensations coursing through his body at her touch. It had been too long with no companionship other than Joey and Kiona. Lovemaking with Kiona was a release, but it was seldom pleasurable, and it was always on her terms.
Cerdwyn kissed his nose, then sat back against her tree. Dried needles from the cypress stuck to her knees and she brushed them away. “I’m confusing you because I’m naked,” she said. “I have clothes hidden nearby. I should get dressed so you’ll focus on what I say instead of what you’d like to do with me.”
Chris lowered his head, ashamed to meet her gaze. She laughed, though, and he looked up.
“Or maybe if I give you what you’re wanting, then you’ll listen better. I won’t deny that I want it, myself,” she said, and her smile was genuine. “Would you rather me be a woman or a wolf?”
Chris couldn’t answer, but he felt his body responding to her talk. She looked between his front legs and laughed softly.
“So eager,” she said, and she leaned forward again, reaching for his growing penis, her fingers cool and soft as she stroked it. “I think I’ll become the wolf this time. I don’t want you feeling dirty later. Another time we can be inter-species lovers.”
Her hand withdrew and a moment later she stood before him as a beautiful brown wolf. She licked Chris’s face, then turned and presented herself to him. Chris needed no further encouragement.
Skandar
Skandar didn’t like the truck, but it was better than the little French car he’d ridden in as Fenris drove them from the countryside into Paris. But both of those vehicles had been better than the metal tube of an airplane and flying across miles and miles of ocean. He resented that Fenris had drugged him for that.
In fact, he mused as he stared through the tinted window of the SUV’s middle row of seats, he’d begun to dislike a lot about his arrogant guide.
Skandar’s fingers played over the
armrest on the door, found a strange shape and pushed it. The tinted window hummed and slid down, letting the night and smell of sea salt rush into the vehicle, washing over his face, through his hair and into the back of the truck.
“Close that damn window!” Fenris barked from the front seat, half turning around to fix Skandar with one burning eye. Even as a man, Fenris’s lips curled up over his teeth when he was angry.
Skandar pulled the lever up and the window closed. Fenris turned around and, after a moment, Skandar returned his attention to the view out his window.
The airplane they’d ridden over the ocean had deposited them in a huge, filthy city of glass and metal and hordes of people. Fenris had called it New York. The trek – mostly on foot – from that city into the warm, dry plains of Mexico had been nice. The seasons changed as they traveled, avoiding most people, staying to the forests as much as possible, often moving at night, following the deep pull toward the Alpha that only Skandar could feel. At times, Fenris had deliberately made contact with other humans, many of them werewolves, and had gathered news about his home before they moved on. He did not let anyone get too close to Skandar, or talk to him.
The forced isolation told Skandar a lot about his traveling companion. He very much wanted to talk to others, especially others bearing the curse. He wanted to compare them to Fenris. The secretive nature of the white-hair had convinced Skandar that it would be best if he disassociated himself when the opportunity seemed right.
In Mexico, Fenris had drugged him again. Skandar remembered trying to steel himself to get on the airplane, but the closer they came to it, the more panicky he’d become. Finally Fenris had given him some water to calm him down, and the next thing Skandar had known they were roaring out of the clouds toward a blinking strip of lights in another city. The city was called San Francisco. They were now going north, toward a place Fenris called home. Skandar didn’t like it. The fulfillment of the prophecy was south, in that dry, hot country. He’d seen her. With his own eyes, through Fenris’s magnifying device, he’d seen the child, the Alpha, and her mother. The Mother. It was because of them he was a man now.
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