Renegade

by Donna Boyd

  That seemed to amuse him. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve become quite notorious among the pack, you know.”

  She affected modesty. “I try.”

  “That wasn’t necessarily a compliment.”

  Lara laughed. “I didn’t imagine it was. The Fasburgs have forever gone their own way in the world and the Devoncroix have forever disapproved, and I don’t see why that should change now.”

  He said, “Perhaps. But I didn’t say I disapproved.”

  Once again, he caught her off guard. She didn’t know what to say. They walked in silence for a few steps.

  “Do you ever see that human your father was so fond of?”

  “No.” But her throat constricted a little, involuntarily, with the word. Even now, even after all this time, the thought of him hurt. “I believe Papa keeps in touch.”

  “He was an odd sort. He has started recording some of the history of the pack for us. Bizarre stuff, most of it. ”

  Lara said nothing.

  He turned then, and surprised her by grasping her neck from the back in one strong hand, drawing her close to him, dipping his face to hers. She was too shocked to protest as he inhaled her scent and then, with absolutely no warning whatsoever, turned her face to his. He tasted her skin with his tongue, and her lips, and then her teeth, and the electric thrill that crackled in her hair sang through the nerves, hummed sweet and high in her ears, melted muscles and sinew. Of course she opened her mouth for him, of course she tasted his tongue on hers and of course her blood went hot and wild.

  He murmured against her neck, “You are exquisite. I want to taste you naked. I want to run with you.”

  And Lara said, quite steadily, “You are presumptuous.”

  “You arouse me.”

  “Hardly a noteworthy accomplishment, in your human form.”

  He raised his eyes to hers, jewels in the dark. And he smiled. He turned and started walking again. Lara kept the pace.

  Nicholas maintained his easy gait, watching the stars, and his tone was casual as he spoke. “I see your photograph from time to time, I hear the stories of your outrageous behavior. I have been somewhat fascinated. I wanted to meet you. And now I have.”

  He stopped then, and turned toward the sea. “Do you see that boat out there?” He nodded toward the twinkling lights of the yacht she had noticed earlier.

  Lara nodded.

  He slipped his shirt over his head and dropped it to the sand. “It’s mine.” He unsnapped his jeans.

  Lara murmured, “Of course it is.”

  He surprised her with a grin, and stepped out of his jeans. “Good night, Lara Fasburg. You have been as interesting as I thought you’d be.”

  Lara watched him wade naked into the surf chest deep, and then dive into the black water. He left her in a rather poetic reversal of her most vivid memory of him from all those years ago, swimming out to sea.

  And she still wasn’t entirely sure why he had found her in the first place.

  Wrapped in a silk robe with a towel around his neck, Nicholas took his wine onto the deck and settled into a chair from which he could watch the play of lights onshore. The sea breeze dried his hair and the remaining moisture from his skin. A steward brought a platter of fruit and dark chocolate and set it on the teak table at his elbow. Absently, Nicholas selected a cherry, sucked out the pulp, and crunched the pit with his teeth.

  “Success in your mission?”

  A tall, dark haired werewolf stepped out of the shadows and helped himself to a morsel of chocolate. His name was Garret Landseer, and he was one of the few people in the world Nicholas trusted. They had been born three days apart, raised together as cubs in the nursery at Castle Devoncroix, and had grown up besting each other at every challenge until Nicholas, simply by virtue of being who he was, had proven himself unbeatable. And in doing so, had won Garret’s loyalty forever.

  “In a manner of speaking.” Nicholas’s tone was preoccupied. “She knows nothing of the human.”

  Garret was Nicholas’s oldest friend and only confidant. He was also a pack security expert, and this news troubled him, but only mildly. “That is disappointing. The situation would have had a much swifter resolution if we had had a direct line to him.”

  Nicholas sipped his wine. “True enough.”

  Garret watched him carefully in the dark. “There must be a Fasburg connection, there’s no doubt of that. No one else in the pack has connections with a human so highly placed, and no other human has such access.”

  “So it would appear.” Nicholas found another cherry. “I found her … interesting.”

  Garret settled himself into a chair within reaching distance of the chocolate. “And how did she find you?”

  Nicholas lifted his glass. “Resistible.”

  Garret paused with the chocolate partway to his mouth and slanted him a companionable grin. “Shall I have her killed, mon liege?”

  Nicholas sipped his wine. “Fortunately for her, lack of judgment in a female is not a capital offense. Besides, I intend to give her another chance.”

  Garret bit into a chocolate, still amused. “Perhaps I should warn her.”

  Nicholas said thoughtfully, “It makes no sense, you know. Petty sabotage, minor theft … nothing that would do any real damage to a project or gain any advantage for the saboteur. Why would anyone risk the wrath of the pack for such absurdities?”

  Garret said, “It’s a common practice to target low-risk projects when testing espionage techniques. Perhaps they are looking for weaknesses in our security. Perhaps it’s a trap. ”

  Nicholas was silent for a moment, watching the sea. “Perhaps it’s a distraction.”

  Garret looked at him alertly, waiting for him to continue, but he did not. He said, “Have you brought this to the attention of your father?”

  Nicholas’s brows came together in the dark. “The situation is mine to deal with.” He did not say what they both were thinking: it was possible that the entire intrigue had been arranged by the elder Devoncroix as a test of efficiency. It would not be the first time. The transfer of power within the pack was a matter of immeasurable consequence, which was why it took place over a period of decades rather than months or even years. No measures were too extreme to ensure that the heir designee was prepared in every way to uphold the enormous responsibility of his office.

  Garret said, “While you were away, we received a new alert. Unauthorized activity on Channel 4 spiked at forty percent.”

  Channel 4 was code for their most secure communications network. It was used primarily in times of crisis, when the pack Council or the pack leader determined it was necessary to keep information secret even from the most highly placed pack members. No one was authorized to use Channel 4 without Garret’s knowledge. Or Nicholas’s.

  “Origination?”

  Garret said, “Castle Devoncroix.”

  Nicholas nodded slowly, and sipped his drink. “So. It has gone that far.”

  “Yes.” A silence. “What would you have me do?”

  Nicholas watched the sea, and the lights from shore that glinted on its ripples, and the big ugly over-bright house where Lara was.

  “Wait,” he replied, at length. “We wait.”

  _______________________

  Chapter Twenty

  Lara saw Nicholas again in New York, two weeks later. She was attending a concert at Lincoln Center, and he was drinking champagne in the lobby. The great marble hall was crowded with elegantly dressed and richly perfumed bodies, many of them loup garou. Their voices echoed and blended and bounced off the high ceilings and walls in a cacophony of anticipation, like the sound of an orchestra tuning before the performance. Lara’s senses were wonderfully dazzled by it all—the smell of humans, the richness of loup garoux, the thrill of music, the swell of excitement—and yet the moment she stepped into the building his scent isolated itself from all the others, his heartbeat separated itself from the hum of the others and the signature of his presence regi
stered itself in the cilia of every cell in her body. Instinctively she turned in his direction.

  In a hall that was thick with people, he stood in a clearing of about three feet in diameter. His formal wear was by Armani, his blond hair tied back at the nape, his expression cool and disinterested. When he saw her, he lifted his glass in a small salute. She turned to murmur a few words to the group with which she had arrived, and she went over to him. The strobe of a photographer’s light followed her.

  “Don’t you find that annoying?” was his greeting to her. He lifted his hand, and before it had fallen again to his side someone pressed a glass of champagne on her.

  Lara accepted the champagne with an admiring lift of her brow, and replied. “If you mean the photographers, I barely notice them anymore. Why do you ask? Is there a law against your being photographed?”

  “Only the law that governs good taste,” he replied with a bored glance around the room. Almost immediately, several of the photographers decided they had met their quota for the evening and turned to leave. “You look lovely,” he added, when his eyes returned to her.

  “I know.” She was wearing a floor length red Dior gown with diamond spaghetti straps and silver Jimmy Choo’s. Her hair was swept up to display simple diamond dangle earrings, one carat each.

  She sipped her champagne. “I understand Anson and Nieles were transferred to the Sudan last week.”

  “They were growing soft in Paris.”

  She regarded him steadily. “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, Nicholas Devoncroix, particularly at this late date.”

  He replied, “It’s hardly my intention to do so. I won’t have a coward in my company, and what they did to you was both cowardly and brutish. I’d like to take you to dinner.”

  “I have concert tickets.”

  “The concert is only fair. I’ve heard it.”

  “I’m with friends.”

  “Do you mean those humans?”

  She smiled. “I should introduce you.”

  “Thank you, no.”

  “And I thank you for the champagne.” She took a last sip and placed the glass in his hand. He looked surprised. “I’ve looked forward to this concert, so I will decline your invitation to dinner. But if you like, we could meet afterwards for coffee. There’s a quaint place called Milieu that overlooks the Park.”

  He frowned. “I’m not familiar with it.”

  “No doubt because it’s solely owned and operated by humans.” She smiled sweetly as she turned. “Send your car.”

  Nicholas did in fact send his car for her, and the driver navigated his way through the cold November streets without Lara having to give directions. A dewy rain clung to the windshield and refracted the lights of the city into colorful shimmering sparks. The strains of the concert still sang in her head. She settled back in the car in her long white suede coat with its high fur lined collar and cuffs and sipped the brandy that was provided from the bar. Nicholas did not join her.

  She surrendered her coat at the restaurant and asked for a private table. Because they knew her she was immediately escorted past the big windowed main dining room with its charming views of the lamp-lit paths and horse-drawn carriages of Central Park, past the art-deco walls and clinking silver and chattering voices to a room with a fireplace and a half dozen tables, only three of which were occupied. The tablecloths were black, the place settings were white, the napkins red. There was a red rose in the center of each table. She chose a table near the fireplace and ordered a large hot chocolate with mounds of whipped cream. She was licking the first dollop of cream off the back of her spoon when she felt the familiar prickle along the back of her neck and Nicholas slid into the chair opposite her. The other diners cast quick, almost covert glances at him, and then resumed their meals.

  He glanced around. “An interesting choice.”

  She scooped up another spoonful of sweet heavy cream. “No one you know ever comes here,” she pointed out. “And I think you have something to say to me that is not meant for the ears of the pack.”

  A mild lift of his brow. “Do you indeed?”

  “I know the limits of my allure, Monsieur Devoncroix. Your embrace on the beach was to scent my truth, not because you found me irresistible.” Absently she stirred the chocolate, watching him. “What I can’t understand is why you thought I would bother lying to you, and on what subject. However, if you followed me to New York, I suspect you may be ready to continue your interrogation.”

  “You do flatter yourself, my dear.” He lifted his finger for a waiter, and ordered a coffee. When they were once again alone he leaned back in his chair and regarded her with relaxed amusement. “I did not follow you. As it happens, I live here.”

  “You live many places.”

  “As do you.”

  “Fifteen years have passed since our last meeting, and suddenly we meet twice in the same month, and on different coasts. I repeat, I know the limits of my allure.”

  His expression grew serious. “There’s been a complex breach of security in my office. Coded data is being transferred between a high-clearance IP address and one of our research facilities here in New York. We suspect the human Hilliford is somehow involved.”

  She flicked her tongue around the rim of her cup, clearing it of cream, and then took a sip of the chocolate. “That seems odd. I thought he had clearance to do his own research inside the pack. Why should he bother to be covert about it?”

  Nicholas said, “Don’t be naïve. The only entrée into the pack he has at all is through your father, and that is limited atbest.”

  “Then it appears to me you should be talking to my father.”

  “I intend to. But you wanted to know why I sought you out. That is why.”

  “A waste of effort on your part. All I know of my father’s interests are what I hear in passing.”

  The coffee arrived in a sleek silver half-pot with a matching cream pitcher and a bowl of raw sugar in glistening crystals. The waiter filled a square glass cup and set it before Nicholas. Nicholas dismissed him with a nod.

  Nicholas said, “I take it then you have not heard anything that might shed light on my current dilemma.”

  She sipped her chocolate. “It seems unlikely. I have very few acquaintances in the pack and, as I said, I don’t keep up with figures from my past.”

  He watched her steadily. “And if you did know something that could be of assistance to me, would you tell me?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  She laughed softly. “I barely know you. What I do know I don’t like. Our families have been enemies for generations. I have no interest in helping you and there’s nothing in it for me. Shall I go on?”

  He tapped his lips lightly with his forefinger, hiding a faint smile. “You are surprising.”

  “Only because you haven’t been paying attention.”

  “As a matter of fact,” he assured her, “I have been paying a great deal of attention to you of late.” He took up his coffee.

  “Should I be afraid?”

  The smile deepened at one corner, and there was actually a twinkle in his eyes. She had always believed him to be humorless, and this caused her to feel slightly unbalanced.

  He said, “I have heard you don’t run.”

  “That would be a phenomenon, wouldn’t it?” She gazed over his shoulder at the fire and sipped her chocolate. “We must run or die.”

  He was silent for a moment. Then he said, “I would like cake. These human chefs of yours—can they bake?”

  It was her turn to smile. “Extraordinarily.”

  They ate cake stuffed with walnuts and sweet butter cream, and afterwards they walked outside into a night that smelled of wet fuel and cooked food and stale garbage and, faint and far away, evergreen. Nicholas touched her shoulder in a gesture that struck Lara as rather human, and they crossed the street to the park.

  It was late, and it was raining lightly, and because of that the human popul
ation that generally frequented the park was greatly diminished. There was a policeman on a horse a mile or so away, the steady clopping of its hooves muffled by the damp. A shadow darted across the hazy puddle of light from a street lamp. The scent of loup garoux in their natural forms was distinct. As the hour grew later, it would grow stronger. On nights like this, Central Park was a favorite place to run.

  “My father tells of a time when we once hunted here,” Nicholas observed. “The park was kept stocked with small game.”

  “I suppose there weren’t any restaurants here then.”

  He glanced at her to see if she was joking but her face gave no indication. Misty rain beaded in her hair and she turned up the collar of her coat. The fur caressed her cheek.

  He said, “I would like you to come to Alaska.” The words surprised him, but when they were spoken, he found he did not regret them.

  She replied, “I have been to Alaska, for your Ascension ceremony, as a matter of fact. I did not find it to my liking.”

  “You were a child.”

  “You said unkind things about my looks.”

  “Did I?” He seemed genuinely puzzled. “I can’t imagine. Your human form is very appealing.”

  “So I am told.”

  She tucked her hands into her pockets, and they turned in unspoken agreement onto a shadowed path that led down a set of shallow steps away from the glare of artificial lights and into a natural night that was easier on their eyes. A carpet of damp leaves was heavy underfoot, smelling of humus and decay. The click of her heels was muffled here, and his footsteps were almost silent.

  He said, “How did you come to be who you are, Lara Fasburg? I am curious.”

  She smiled in the dark. “I had no choice. I was never any good at being anything else.”

  “Don’t be facile.”

  “But it’s true. I had no talent for music or drawing or invention or architecture or engineering. The pack values excellence and I never bothered to learn to be excellent at anything. Human standards are much lower. All they require is that you possess a pleasing form and an amusing lifestyle, and they will make you a hero. I find I quite like being a hero.”