by Anne Bishop
Many assurances that they were there to buy books. They fled to the shelves that would take them out of sight. He cocked his head, listening to John talk to the girls as he came back from the stockroom, catching the tone but not the words.
The girls had gotten what they came for. They would buy a few books as payment for being able to relate to their friends that they had seen, for real, a Wolf sniff a woman’s crotch in public.
Sighing, he pulled the stack of book orders from beneath the counter. Before, he hadn’t had enough to occupy his mind. Now he had too much.
Despite her blatant efforts to flirt with him, Asia was rubbing against Darrell, a human who worked at the consulate. Elliot had voiced no complaints about the man, which meant Darrell was a good worker, but he wasn’t the kind of male Simon would have expected Asia to run after. He seemed too ordinary for a female who wanted to walk on the wild side.
Simon growled in frustration. He was missing something. He didn’t think like a human, so he was missing something.
Unfortunately, he didn’t trust any humans enough to ask one what it was about Asia’s interest in Darrell that wasn’t right.
* * *
Freaking Wolf! He used to let her flirt with him. Now he treated her like a rattlesnake he wanted to stomp under his boot. And now that she thought about it, Simon Wolfgard had started being mean to her around the same time the new Liaison showed up.
But he couldn’t be humping that no-looks feeb! From what Darrell had told her—in confidence, of course—Simon Wolfgard hadn’t entertained a female guest since his sister was killed. When Asia had learned that, his refusal to respond to her invitations made more sense. But the way he brought all the wrong kinds of attention to her now could turn into a professional fuckup. And, damn it, she didn’t want to settle for Darrell because Meg was somehow screwing up her chances with Simon.
As Asia reached her car, she glanced toward the street and saw a white van drive by. And she smiled.
* * *
Meg looked at the empty dog bed, then looked away and told herself to focus on sorting the mail. She’d already had to go through a couple of stacks twice when she realized she had put some of the mail for the Chambers in with the mail for the Crowgard. If that mail had gone to the Corvine Complex, the odds of the Sanguinati getting it back unopened . . . Well, there really weren’t odds sufficient for that.
Sam needed to socialize with his own kind, needed to spend time with the other Wolf pups. He’d already lost two years, and she had the impression that there weren’t many youngsters his age in the Courtyard, regardless of species. So he needed to be with Wolves, and she was happy to work alone without interruptions.
Sure she was.
She hadn’t known him a couple of weeks ago. How could she feel their—his!—absence when she’d known him for so short a time?
Pay attention, she scolded herself. The ponies will be here soon, and they’ll expect you to have mail for them to deliver.
She focused on the work and tried to ignore the silence even the chatter on the radio couldn’t hide.
* * *
Simon glanced at the wall clock behind the checkout counter and tried not to snap at Vlad for being late.
The Sanguinati studied the Wolf. “Something wrong?”
Simon shook his head. “Just have something that needs to be done.”
Vlad looked around. “Are we providing shelter, or are the humans actually buying books?”
“Little of both. Sales have been pretty good today. Heather campaigned for some books that I normally wouldn’t have in the store because it gives humans too many wrong ideas.”
Vlad looked amused. “You mean the kinds of stories where the Wolf doesn’t eat the female after he has sex with her?”
“After Asia and I snapped at each other this morning, and Ferus shoved his nose into her privates, we sold out all the Wolf-as-lover books. If you drink one of the customers pale, we should sell out the stack of vampire-as-lover stories.”
“Heather should know better,” Vlad muttered.
Simon slipped past Vlad and said nothing. There would be a spike in the number of girls who went out for a walk in the woods and were never heard from again. There always were when stories came out portraying the terra indigene as furry humans who just wanted to be loved.
Most of the terra indigene didn’t want to love humans; they wanted to eat them. Why did humans have such a hard time understanding that?
“Are you going to come back?” Vlad asked.
He hesitated. “Not sure.”
A lot was going to depend on how Meg responded to seeing a full-grown Wolf.
* * *
Almost time to close for the midday break. According to the grapevine—which, in the Courtyard, meant Jenni Crowgard and her sisters—the new library books would be available today. Since tomorrow was Earthday, Meg expected to have a lot of time on her hands, so she wanted to pick up a couple of books. Maybe she would also stop at Music and Movies for a movie. And she needed to pick up a few things at the grocery store on her way home. Maybe she would call Hot Crust and have a pizza delivered to the office before she left for the day.
Lots of things she could do tomorrow. Lots of things.
Meg turned off the radio and heard the quiet sounds coming from the back room.
“Merri Lee? Is that you?” She had been stopping in at A Little Bite for the past few days, but Tess might have sent someone over with her meal. “Julia?”
What pushed open the door and came into the sorting room wasn’t a human or a Hawk.
The Wolf was a terrible kind of beauty, and so much more than the pictures she’d been shown of the animal, who paled in comparison to what the terra indigene had made of that form. Big and muscled, the Wolf approaching her had a dark coat shot with lighter gray hairs. Meg wasn’t sure if it was the coat or something else about his nature that made him seem less substantial when he moved, made the eyes struggle to see him.
How many people had thought they were hallucinating right up until the moment they were attacked?
The amber eyes held a feral intelligence—and an annoyed frustration she recognized.
“Mr. Wolfgard?”
The Wolf cocked his head.
“Simon?”
He opened his mouth in a wolfish grin.
She recognized him. Points for her.
Then she looked at him again. Sam was going to grow up to look like that? “Wow.”
He wagged his tail and looked pleased. Then he began sniffing his way around the room, making happy growls when he poked around in the corner that used to have a nest of mice. She stepped aside when he got to her part of the room, and she had the impression the passing sniff he gave her would have been much more thorough if she’d stood still. So she took another step back and didn’t say anything when he poked his nose around Sam’s bed.
He headed for the back room, his shoulder brushing her waist as he passed her.
She stayed where she was.
That was what was hiding inside the human skin? That strength, those teeth? No wonder the Wolves hadn’t let her see them until she got used to living in the Courtyard. Sam running toward her for a pretend hunt had been scary enough. Being chased by a pack of grown Wolves . . .
People who entered the Courtyard without an invitation were just plain crazy! Wolves were big and scary and so fluffy, how could anyone resist hugging one just to feel all that fur?
“Ignore the fluffy,” she muttered. “Remember the part about big and scary.”
Then she heard sounds that had her rushing into the back room.
“What are you doing?” she yelped.
He had opened all the cupboards and found the puppy cookies. The ripped top of the box was in pieces on the floor. He grabbed one side of the box and shook his head, dumping a few cookies on the floor.
“Stop that!” Meg scolded. “Stop! You’ll set a bad example for Sam.”
She didn’t think, didn’t even cons
ider the stupidity of what she was doing. She just grabbed the other side of the box and tried to pull it away from him.
Never play tug-of-war with a Wolf who weighs twice as much as you do, she thought as it became clear to her that her shoes had better traction, but he had more feet and more experience playing the game.
Before she could figure out how to gracefully end the contest, the box ripped and cookies went flying.
Simon dropped the box and dove for the cookies. Licked one off the floor—crunch, crunch—then swallowed before going after the next one.
“Don’t eat off the floor!” Meg shoved him away from the cookies, surprising a growl out of him.
They stared at each other, him with his lips raised to show her an impressive set of teeth, and her realizing that it had probably been a lot of years since anyone had dared push him away from food he wanted.
She stepped back and tried to pretend she was dealing with a big version of Sam the puppy, since that felt safer than dealing with Simon the dominant Wolf . . . and her boss.
“Fine,” she said. “Go ahead and stuff yourself with cookies. But you’re going to be the one who explains why there aren’t any left when Sam comes to visit.”
Turning her back on him, she strode into the sorting room and kept going until she reached the counter in the front room, her legs shaking more and more with every step.
“Let him have the cookies,” she muttered as she watched a white van pull into the delivery area. “Maybe they’ll fill him up enough that he’ll forget about wanting to eat the annoying female.”
Pulling her clipboard from the shelf under the counter, she waited for the last delivery of the morning.
* * *
Henry stepped into his yard and reached back to shut the workroom door. The wood had stopped speaking to him a few minutes ago, so he had put his tools away and tidied up. He would get something to eat at Meat-n-Greens, then take care of the new library books—however many were left. Fortunately, there would be a list so he would know what books were supposed to be on the shelves.
The Crows on the wall were uneasy—and silent.
Nothing unusual about that. Now that they finally had a decent Liaison, they were getting more deliveries.
He breathed in cold, clean air—and breathed out hot anger as the scent from over the wall reached him. It belonged to the intruder who had broken in when Meg had first come to work for them and was living in the efficiency apartment.
An intruder who was now inside the office, talking to Meg.
Between was not encouraged in the Courtyards. Between disturbed humans too much, stirred up too much fear. Right now, he didn’t care. He shifted what he needed. His feet changed shape and acquired footpads, fur, and claws. His palms grew a pad, and his fingers changed to stubby, clawed digits.
The snow packed against the wall of his yard formed a ramp. He scrambled over the snow and down the other side of the wall, crouching beside the snowpack while he studied the van. Then, staying low, he crossed the open area and reached the passenger’s door.
A glance into the office. Meg talking to the intruder.
She didn’t look like she wanted to talk to that monkey. But he did. Oh yes. He did.
* * *
Simon chased a cookie across the floor, enjoying the silly game.
Meg hadn’t been upset when she saw him as Wolf. She had, in fact, been foolishly brave, daring to push the leader away from food. And they had played. He couldn’t remember ever playing with a human.
Chasing one you were going to eat didn’t count.
Did she play tug with Sam? What about throw? He didn’t think she was strong enough to throw anything very far, but it could still be an enjoyable game. The three of them could play. They could . . .
Simon raised his head, growling softly but not yet sure what he was sensing that had him primed to attack.
He stepped into the sorting room, sniffed the air . . . and knew.
Meg wasn’t just uneasy. Meg was afraid.
* * *
Her skin prickled so fiercely, it was everything she could do not to drop the clipboard and pen and pull out the razor to ease the awful feeling that had started as soon as the man walked into the office. Everything about him was wrong, but he hadn’t actually done anything.
“Must get lonely, working here all by yourself,” he said.
“Oh no. There are people coming and going all day.” Not to mention the Crows who kept track of who came and went.
Trying to ignore the prickling, Meg frowned at the back of the van. Not enough information and far too many blanks. Who was this delivery service anyway?
Giving up on the van, she turned toward the package, sliding her eyes to get another look at the man. Big. Rough-looking. No name stitched on the shirt pocket. No company logo or identification on the jacket.
“There’s no company name on this label,” she said. The box was tall enough that she could see the label but not read it easily. Another black mark for this delivery service that their driver didn’t think to tilt it for her. “Who sent this?”
He shrugged. “Couldn’t say.”
“It should be on your paperwork.” Her voice turned sharp. There was something about the look in his eyes that reminded her of the Walking Names when one of the girls dared to ask a question that wasn’t about a lesson. “Who is it for?”
“For one of them. What difference does it make?”
Something ugly in his voice now. But he was more frightening when he tried to go back to friendly, as if she couldn’t hear the ugliness under the words.
“Sorry,” he said. “Had a couple of rough deliveries earlier. Complaints about things I can’t fix. You know?”
That was possible, although she suspected he deserved the complaints. Setting her pen and clipboard on the counter, she reached for the box, intending to turn it in the hopes she could at least make out which complex it should go to. If she couldn’t read that much, she would refuse the delivery and write a memo to Simon and Vlad in case someone was looking for the package.
The man moved fast, clamping one hand on her wrist.
“Why don’t you come with me?” he said, smiling when she couldn’t break his grip. “We’ll get something to eat and get acquainted.”
“No.” She twisted, trying to break free. “Let go of my wrist!”
“Whatcha gonna do? Bite my hand off?”
Simon exploded out of the sorting room. He didn’t bother with the hand. His lunge took him over the counter far enough that his teeth just missed the man’s face.
The man let her go and scrambled back toward the door. “You fucking bitch! I was just asking you out for a meal. You didn’t have to sic your fucking dog on me!”
The “dog” snarled so savagely, the man bolted out of the office and scrambled into the van, his movements so violent the driver’s-side tires actually lifted off the pavement for a moment. But there wasn’t time to wonder about that, because Simon used his body to shove her into the sorting room.
He rose on his hind legs and shifted, but he didn’t revert back to human completely before he grabbed her, and his fury, like the look of him when he was a queer blend of human and Wolf, was a chilling heat against her skin.
“Where is it?” He pulled her close and began sniffing her. “Where is it?”
She tried pushing him away, disturbed by the sensation of fur covering a human chest. “Where is what?” When he bent to sniff at her waist and hips, she squealed and struggled to get away.
“Where is the cut, Meg?” he snarled.
“I didn’t cut!” She began fighting him. He was something out of nightmares now, and he terrifi
ed her. “Stop it, Simon! Let me go!”
She pulled away from him, smacking against the counter as a hand that wasn’t quite a hand yanked on her sweater. She heard the sound of material ripping at the seams. And she heard his harsh breathing as he stared at the upper part of her left arm.
“I didn’t cut,” she said, trying not to cry. “I was in the back room with you, and then I was trying to deal with that deliveryman.”
“But you knew he was bad,” Simon argued. “You knew.”
“Not because I cut myself! Not because of a prophecy. Did you hear me describing a vision?”
“You don’t have to say the words out loud!”
She didn’t understand why he was so angry about the possibility of a cut. It was, after all, her choice now. But she realized there were things he didn’t understand about the cassandra sangue, and judging by the way he kept looking at the scars, he knew they weren’t right. He knew that much.
“Most people hear only about the euphoria, the ecstasy that blood prophets feel from a cut.”
He cocked his head to show he was listening.
“And there is euphoria. There is ecstasy that is similar to prolonged sexual pleasure. But first, Mr. Wolfgard, there is pain. When the skin is first cut, in those moments before the prophet begins to speak, there is a lot of pain.”
He didn’t like that. She could judge how much he didn’t like that by the red flickering in his amber eyes.
“Do you know how a girl like me is punished?” She raised her right hand and traced the diagonal scars on her left arm. “She is strapped to the chair, as always. Then she is gagged. And then the Controller sits in his chair while one of the Walking Names takes the razor and slices across old visions, old prophecies, and makes something terrible and new. All those images jumbled together with no reference point, no anchor. And because she is gagged, the girl can’t speak. The words need to be heard, Mr. Wolfgard. When a prophecy isn’t spoken, isn’t shared, there is no euphoria. There is only pain.”
