Like one of you, Michael thought.
“I spoke with Celestine,” Frederick continued, his voice changing into something even more ominous. “She told me of the werewolf at your apartment. I hope this doesn’t represent a conflict of interest?”
Michael gritted his teeth. “None at all. That werewolf is my liaison to the underground. She’s helping me investigate the murder.”
“Ah. Fine, then. I just wanted to be clear on that point. You serve a vital function in our community, Michael. It wouldn’t do to have that function sullied with … rumors.”
“Rumors.” Michael felt his heart grow hard, dangerous. “I’m already an outcast, Frederick. Everyone fears me. What could a little rumor do that would possibly be worse than that?”
Frederick laughed, and hung up the phone. Michael looked out the window and stared at the broken rose.
Chapter Thirteen
The DNA test kits arrived an hour after Michael left. Keeli read the instructions, unsure how to begin. None of the three wolves would be thrilled about giving a sample—she could imagine what Estella would say—but it had to be done, if only to clear their names. Of course, once that happened, they would be left with another problem: how to find a murderer without any real leads.
There were three hundred werewolves living in the city, and those were only the ones documented by the local government. If you never left the underground—or were just too paranoid to follow the law—then there was no need to register. What authority was going to come down into the tunnels to check your papers? Keeli guessed there might be at least two hundred wolves in that category, which didn’t include everyone under eighteen years of age. That was a lot of ground to cover, and she seriously doubted anyone would be in the mood to talk. Especially with her.
And if the humans had murdered Walter Crestin and the other vampires? Perhaps even that werewolf found dead in the subway who everyone thought had been drained?
This was gonna be shit.
One thing at a time. Get these tests taken care of first, and worry about the rest later. Keeli thought about seeking out her grandmother’s advice, but her feet refused to take her next door. It was stupid, but she couldn’t help herself. She was afraid of the questions the old woman might ask. Specifically, those dealing with her and Michael.
So she went looking for Jas. There were a lot of unfamiliar wolves in the tunnels, which took her off guard until she remembered that tomorrow was the full moon. The lower Alphas always gathered the day before full shift to meet in council with the Grand Dame. Usually they held night meetings, but if another negotiation with the vampires had already been scheduled, then it made sense for the Alphas and their entourages to arrive early. Keeli had a very good idea what they would be talking about.
Good luck, Granny May. With tensions rising and vampire packs roving the streets above, just looking for a reason to retaliate against stray wolves, Keeli’s grandmother would need all the skills she possessed to keep the Alphas in line with an alliance.
Keeli passed clan members involved in preparations for the vampire envoys’ arrival. That mostly involved cleaning, scrubbing down the walls and floors until the cement gleamed with a dull shine. As Keeli stepped around the workers, nodding greetings, she felt a moment of heartache for her people. Why, when there was so much beauty in the world, were they condemned to live underground? Trying in vain to make concrete pretty?
So ironic. Because vampires, who were allergic to the sun, got to live in penthouses full of it—while werewolves, who could happily embrace the light, were condemned to live away from it.
And what were the reasons? Money? Power? Or was it just fear? Werewolves could not afford the lobbyists and PR machines that vampires invested in to keep the humans rolling happy. And the humans, who took most of the good jobs, were the teachers and cops and admissions officers. What was left for werewolves? A few got lucky and landed decent white collar jobs. But they were never the doctors and very rarely the lawyers. As a race, they were overwhelmingly poor and uneducated.
Well, at least the were-children in this city are getting an education. Thanks to the Grand Dame Alpha, anyway. She had created schools in the underground, accredited by the city government with occasional oversight from the school board. The City officials had balked at first, but it was either agree to the Grand Dame’s proposal, or be accused of neglecting children—children that no one wanted in regular schools, playing with human kids. The lycanthropy virus transferred just the same, no matter how old a person was. The only difference was that the ability to shape-shift did not hit until puberty.
Separate and unequal. Even human minorities pick on us. No one gets all politically correct on their asses. And that’s okay with people—no one sees the double standard—because the one thing everyone can agree on is that we’re big and bad, and we scare the shit out of shit.
The vampires had it easy. No one pegged their kids, or kept them from jobs. The general human population didn’t look too hard past the pretty faces and nice clothes to the monsters beneath. Celebrities. Idolizing men and women who would just as soon eat their fans as look at them.
For a moment, Keeli wondered how she could stand Michael’s presence. She wasn’t naïve—she knew that at least once in his life he had murdered a human for his supper. It was impossible to be a vampire and not take lives. If she let that slide—if she could forgive him for that—then wasn’t her anger against all other vampires pure hypocrisy? What made Michael better than everyone else? Why did she feel differently about him?
Because he’s not like the rest of them. He’s not part of the problem.
As if that wasn’t the lamest reason she could think of. It was like saying that Michael was good just because he didn’t fit the stereotype. If someone said that about her, she’d kick some ass.
Face it. You’re a racist. You’ve got prejudices. Accept them, and move on. Move on to someplace where you’re better than all the bigots who condemn werewolves just because they’re different. Don’t be that ignorant or pathetic.
She had to be better than that. They all did. Wolves like Jas, who looked at the world with only resentment, would never see the light beyond the tunnels. Would never be able to lead the wolves from the underground. Even the Grand Dame Alpha lacked enough experience amongst humans to facilitate a successful transition.
A transition into what? If werewolves leave the tunnels en masse, humans will just force us—legally and without a fuss—into the ghettos.
Yeah, but it would be a start. A place in the sun that werewolves could call their own. What humans called a ghetto would not stay ghetto for long if the werewolves got hold of it. Keeli thought of the neighborhood where Michael lived, the ways it could be improved so that werewolves and humans might coexist in safety, without the threat of gang wars and drugs on every street corner.
You dream big, but none of this is going to happen when Jas becomes Alpha. He has good intentions, but the larger picture doesn’t mean anything to him. Nothing will change for the wolves.
And there had to be change if werewolves wanted to survive as more than second-class citizens, feeding on the scraps left by humans and vampires.
We are not animals.
But an animal whine suddenly echoed off the walls; pained, frightened. Another one followed, shrill, a muffled gasp. Keeli glanced at the wolves around her; they looked back with puzzled frowns. Keeli broke into a run down the corridor. All she could think of was Michael—Michael returned, attacked, perhaps the attacker—and if blood had been spilled on either side …
She rounded the bend and came up hard against warm bodies. Keeli did not slow down; snarling, she pressed her palms together and wedged herself into the crowd, slamming forward, shoving aside the onlookers who growled and snapped at her shoulders. When they caught her scent, recognized her face, she felt them back off. It did not hurt her feelings that they feared her anger; right now, she welcomed it.
She expected Michael, but what she fo
und was almost worse. Richard and Suze were pinned to the ground by three larger wolves, all of them from another clan. They smelled like grease oil and fish, which meant they were from Leroux. Dock wolves. Many of them had jobs on the wharf, and guarded that employment from other clans with tooth and claw.
The three wolves looked up when Keeli burst out of the crowd. Richard raised his head, swaying. He bled from the mouth and his eye was purple. Suze curled against his side, one arm flung across his chest. Keeli could not see her face.
“What the fuck is going on here?” The wolf rose within her chest. Fur pressed through her skin, smooth and quick.
The largest Leroux wolf bared his teeth. He had a sharp, craggy face, with small eyes and a large mouth. “Just cleaning the scum, pretty-pink. The girl smells like fang. Been putting out to the gangs, I think. Let me do you a favor and carve her straight from the pack. Seems to be what everyone wants.”
Keeli spun around to stare at the watching werewolves. Almost all of them were Maddox, and not one looked ready to lift a finger to help Richard and Suze.
“What’s wrong with you?” she said to them, appalled. “These are members of your clan! Do you hate the vampires so much that you’ll toss away new family, just on the scent and say-so of a stranger?”
Silence greeted her; uncomfortable downward glances, the shuffling of feet. Keeli spit on the ground.
“You all disgust me. Turning on children. Fine, then. Let’s play this for keeps. See just how far my clan is willing to go.” Keeli turned to face the Leroux wolves. She spread out her arms, gliding forward on the balls of her feet. Rage poured white-hot into her limbs; her heart felt hard as diamond, bright and ready to cut. The Leroux wolves watched her, grinning. They did not know who she was.
“The girl isn’t a fang-banger,” Keeli said softly. She bared her teeth in a coy, cruel smile, tilting her head. “But I am. Oh, yeah.” She swiveled her hips, grinding against an invisible body, all the while matching gazes with the staring men. Canines pierced her lower lip; she tasted blood. Bones popped in her arms. Claws split her fingernails. She savored the pain, used it to retain some sliver of control.
Control. Yes.
She danced closer, running her claws over her thighs. Her voice deepened. “Come on. Try to carve me straight.”
The Leroux wolves let go of Richard and Suze. Richard scrambled to his feet and dragged the girl away. The crowd did not part for the teens. They remained locked within the circle.
Damn it. So much for a distraction.
The three werewolves snarled. Low murmurs arose from behind her; Maddox, finally coming to life. Too late now, though. Just too damn late. Keeli was going to slam this lesson into her clan’s memory, or else die trying. Prejudice had its place, no matter how much she might wish it otherwise. A person just couldn’t turn away a lifetime of bad feelings overnight—but when that prejudice got in the way of honor, compassion—
“Slut,” snapped the largest Leroux werewolf, already more animal than man. “Yeah, we’ll carve you fine.”
The men attacked. Keeli let go … filling … filled …
Pure Maddox blood is a tricky thing—she ducked, whirling with her claws out, rushing into meaty flesh—it is old blood, the oldest werewolf line, some say—bone grated beneath her fingertips and she cut down, lacerating muscle—undiluted from the first wolf, the first blood crime—howls filled her ears and she fed on the pain she caused, twisting as she felt movement against her back, dodging a crippling strike, a long fist into her spine. The first kill—teeth were too slow so she used her fists, rapping blows into an exposed neck, crushing—that first taste of blood as the wolf ate the womb of its demon mother—and he fell, choking, and it was easy, so easy to take them down, but there was one left, the largest, and she licked the blood from her claws, shivering as she welcomed him with a smile—infecting her descendents with rage—he was wary now, but the beast was on his soul and he could not stop the descent of his body into her own. So watch your control—she sidestepped, quick—because, Keeli—and she wanted to taste his throat, cut his spine on her teeth—oh, Keeli—he turned too slow and his stomach met her claws, digging, ripping, while her mouth closed around his neck—you are so much like your father—she bit down—and you know what killed him, what killed my only son—
She stopped and all she could hear was the wild thrashing of her heart, the thick rush of gasping. Movement twitched against her body—a chest pressed hard against her own, heaving. Hot warmth spilling down her stomach. The scent and taste of blood trickled over her teeth.
Her grandmother’s voice echoed inside her head.
Keeli rolled her gaze upward and saw the whites of eyes. Terror.
Kill him. Do it.
Yes. That would feel good.
But she thought of her father; remembered, too, a horrified man splayed beneath her, and the strong hand in her hair with a dark voice saying, “No.”
No. You must calm yourself. Please. Control the wolf.
Slowly, carefully, she pulled her jaws from the werewolf’s neck. She swallowed his blood and looked into his eyes.
“Do you know who I am now?” Her voice sounded loud in the quiet of the corridor. No one moved or spoke; even the two wounded wolves on the ground did not make a sound. Despite her reputation, her father’s reputation, Keeli had never before fought in public—not with such visceral abandon, not to kill. She had unwillingly ridden her entire life on the clan’s memories of her father, and now memory had become reality. All their jibes, their nervous anticipation, had finally come to have merit.
The werewolf nodded, jerky and quick.
“Then get out of here. Take your friends and go. And if you ever come back, or mark another Maddox wolf, I will finish what I started.”
There was no question in his eyes. He believed her. Everyone watching believed her.
“Keeli.”
She turned and found Jas directly behind her. His human wife Emily was with him, tucked tight against his side. A lovely hat covered her ravaged scalp and the remains of her face. Keeli felt her gaze, curious and green.
The Leroux wolf spoke. “Jas,” he croaked. “Please give the Grand Dame my apologies. I won’t be able to attend the monthly council.”
Keeli barely managed to keep her face straight. The only wolves who attended the council were Alphas.
Shit, no.
No wonder the other Maddox wolves didn’t attack him. They would have gotten creamed. I should have gotten creamed. She turned back to look at the Alpha. He met her gaze, but it flickered, darting sideways, away and away. She stepped forward, and felt him swing backward though his feet did not move.
“I changed my mind,” she said, pressing her advantage, refusing to think of the momentous thing she had just done. “You will go to the council. You will go, and you will pledge your support to the Grand Dame. It is for your clan’s own good, Alpha Leroux. We’re not strong enough to fight the humans on our own.”
“We’re strong,” he countered, a glimmer of defiance returning to his face.
“No,” Keeli said. “You’re not.”
That quiet reminder of his defeat was enough. Alpha Leroux tried to take a deep breath; he clutched his bleeding stomach. “And you? Should I expect you to follow me?”
Keeli felt dizzy. By rights, clan Leroux was now hers; the wolf before her, a subordinate. He knew it—everyone knew it. What the hell had she just done?
Defended some kids. Kicked some ass. All in a day’s work.
She almost laughed, and maybe the Alpha saw that, the shadow on her blood-wet lips. She smelled his fear and shame, and it was the perfect antidote to hysteria.
I am an Alpha now. I could be an Alpha if only I grabbed the claim. Her father’s dream. Her accident. He had died for the thing she had done so easily, without thinking about. The irony hurt.
“I don’t want your clan,” she told Leroux, savoring his surprise. “I only want you to remember. I don’t think that will be a problem.�
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Alpha Leroux would never live this down. Especially once the rest of his clan heard the story. She watched his two companions stagger to their feet. Their wounds were already knitting, but one man had trouble breathing, while the other still bled heavily from his leg. Keeli glimpsed bone.
Alpha Leroux backed away from Keeli, bowing his head. When he met her eyes again, the shame was gone, and in its place, fear and … respect? Was such a thing possible? Or was it just the delusion of her ego?
The crowd parted for Leroux. A wolf stepped forward to take his place. Fine weathered features, long silver hair, and clear gray eyes—Keeli knew this wolf; he was another Alpha, a friend to her grandmother. Three strangers flanked him. They carried themselves as equals, leaders.
Keeli’s face grew hot as she bowed her head.
“Alpha Hargittai.” She quickly bowed her head. Seeing him, a man who had known her since she was a child, made Keeli nervous in ways Leroux had not.
You respect him. There is your difference.
She respected him, loved him—in all the clans, there was no finer wolf than Hargittai. None who could compare in honesty and courage. After Keeli’s father died, he had stepped in as a gentle surrogate, a bulwark against the pain of her loss.
There were those who believed Hargittai would make an excellent Grand Sire Alpha should her grandmother ever step down. Keeli agreed, but she knew Hargittai: The man had too much respect for her grandmother and the Maddox legacy. He was content with his place as Alpha of just one clan.
Hargittai bowed his head in return—as did his companions. Keeli forgot to breathe. Equals. Oh, God. These men—her elders—were treating her as equal.
“You are still wearing the wolf,” Hargittai said, his deep voice soft, almost kind. Keeli looked at herself. Thick fur covered her body; her limbs looked deformed, twisted with muscle. Her claws, sharp. She had not even noticed. There was no strain, no pain. The half-state between wolf and human felt as natural as breathing.
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