Elora gaped at Ram. "You really don't give up. Do you!" Ram shrugged without the slightest repentance or willingness to give ground. "Look here, elf." Elora grabbed Ram's face in both hands. "If you're going, I'm going." And she laid a kiss on his very inviting, death-by-sex mouth that drifted across generally acceptable boundaries for public displays of affection in Scotia and most other places in the world.
Simon flopped into an overstuffed chair in a very un-Director-like way and looked toward the window like he was searching for a source to garner patience. "Anyone like a graphic demonstration as to why there's a no-office-romance policy?"
Reluctantly, Elora pulled away from her mate and turned to Simon. "I'm sorry. That was so uncalled for. Can we chalk it up to pregnancy hormones? And I will try to behave better, I promise."
Ram, for one, was hoping the resolution for better behavior never gelled. Elora had spent her first twenty three years living an extremely repressed, highly public role as a Briton royal in her own world. Once she'd had a taste of personal freedom, she wholeheartedly embraced the concept and Ram had done all possible to encourage her adventurous, lusty side.
"But," she said more seriously, "do not conspire with my husband to keep me from him."
Simon wondered if that was a threat and decided not to ask. He simply sighed and looked at Ram. "I sympathize with your conflict and your predicament, but B Team is already limping. The Lady Laiken goes."
Ram swung away from Elora and muttered some mild curses.
Simon turned to Baka. "If you feel that strongly about taking Heaven, you can go as three."
Baka gave Simon one of his half nod, half bow gestures. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," Simon said with a hint of wry. "Plane leaves in three hours. As you know, Litha was working on this, but her talent as tracker was wasted because all the reports of sightings were close to London bridge within three blocks of Magnus the Martyr's Church of Angland."
Ram turned to Baka. "Either relent regardin’ your assistant or get us a map." Baka reached for his intelliphone. "No. We need a real, old-fashioned map, big enough for the three of us to look at together." To Simon, Ram said, "I want to see those reports. And have you made arrangements for us to stay over?" Simon nodded and began speaking instructions into his own phone.
Ram turned all the way around to find Elora standing behind him. "And might you be available to throw a couple things in a duffel? In case we're delayed past midnight?" He started out fully intending to dole out her assignment objectively, but, as he spoke, he moved closer and closer like he was being pulled by an invisible force until the last few words were nuzzled next to her ear giving her both shivers and giggles.
Ram heard a noise of exasperation behind him and turned his head. "Sorry, Director. But we are on our honeymoon you know." Elora got a smile full of promise.
"On my way." She eased around him brushing past his body with just enough contact to let him know she would be collecting on that promise later.
Ram, Elora, and Baka arrived at the private planes terminal at London City Airport which was not nearly so far out as Heathrow or Gatwick. They readily agreed that Ram should drive since he was at home on the left-hand side of the road and didn't have to conscientiously think about how to use a right-handed gear shift.
Not wanting to call attention to themselves, they had dressed in the sort of urban casual, pedestrian clothes you would expect to see in that neighborhood and picked a Vauxhall four-door sedan out of The Order's fleet. Elora took one look at it and said, "Baka can ride in back which was an understated way of calling 'shotgun'."
When they were close to target area, they left the car in a pay-to-park lot and started off on foot. The plan was to find a pub and have dinner while waiting for darkness to settle in. They knew the werewolf wouldn't show itself until full on night.
"I love pub food. It's my favorite."
Ram snorted. "'Tis what you say about all food these days."
"That is so not true and so snarky of you to say. Ugh! I wish you were the one who was pregnant."
"Sorry." His eyes twinkled as he reached out and put one arm around her while rubbing her yet-to-be-round tummy gently with his other hand.
"I like it, too," said Baka.
Ram looked at him. "I beg your pardon?"
"Pub food. Shepherd's Pie, ploughman sandwiches, goat cheese quesadillas."
Elora laughed at him. "Goat cheese quesadillas are not pub food."
"Then why do they have it on the menus so often?"
"Because they're not pub purists?"
"Pub purists. Okaaaaay."
"You know," Ram said, "Simon is right. The pair of you do no' bring out the best in each other."
They spent the rest of sunset in relaxed conversation - more or less. Elora did make the point that it was surprising to have a werewolf problem in the middle of a big city. Everyone knows werewolves prefer areas with lots of open space. They usually give big cities a wide berth for the same reason feral wolves do.
When it looked dark as could be expected on a quarter moon night in one of the world's largest artificially lit cities, they took one more look over their map, reviewed the plan, and headed out on a mission of the 'simple' sanction, to use Simon's word, of one 'meager' werewolf, to use Ram's word.
Ram was wearing button down jeans, a heavy metal tee shirt and a nondescript, tan trench coat outfitted as an arsenal. Elora wore a skirt with flat-heeled, ankle boots and a leather jacket. She didn't carry much in the way of weaponry, but she didn't need to.
"Hey," Baka sounded more cheerful than usual. "Have you ever heard the song 'Werewolves of London'? Maybe if we sing it, it might make him mad enough to show himself."
Neither of his companions broke their stride as Ram said, "How does it go? Sing a little for us."
Elora slid a sideways smile toward Ram. Usually people will withdraw suggestions about singing when you put them on the spot and they both expected Baka would do the same. Instead, he launched an uninhibited, full throated, baritone rendition. He had gotten as far as the line about 'beef chow mein' when they overcame their surprise enough to stop him.
"We are no' tryin' to giddle the beast. We're tryin' to curtail the terrorizin' of citizenry."
Baka looked disappointed. "Right."
After a couple of hours of patrolling, Elora had outdistanced the men a little and walked a ways uphill from them. As Ram ambled alongside Baka, he found himself feeling especially content and waxing philosophical.
"You know, Baka, a few months ago, I watched through a glass wall as my wife sat down in front of you and became so fearful I actually hyperventilated and had to breathe into a paper bag. It was fuckin' humiliatin'."
Baka smiled. "I suppose there are some advantages to being feared?"
"I hope you find there's more on the plus side in bein' human. I am walkin' along with you this very night because my teammate, Storm, and that marvelous creature just ahead of us both think so highly of you."
"That pleases me very much, Sir Hawking."
"The thing is, I know there is some sort of weird connection between you and my mate. Though I can no' account for it, I am nonetheless grateful that you were instrumental in savin’ my wife from death by vampire."
"Was my finest hour. No doubt."
“I also know you seem intent on pollinatin’ all the flowers now that you’re free. And certainly ‘tis no’ a thing wrong with that. I've been unmated myself." Ram stopped on the sidewalk and faced Baka to emphasize a point he wanted to make. "Just be very sure your stinger is limp and securely in your pocket when you’re 'round my wife. Or I will be forced to feed your balls to the lady’s great, black beast who has such a profound and inexplicable dislikin’ of you.”
Baka opened his mouth to tell Ram not to worry, that he had, in fact, lost interest in 'pollinatin' all the flowers', but that was forgotten when every hair follicle on his body surged to life and stood on end. There are few noises as frightening as a werewolf
's threatening snarl. It is the stuff of nightmares. Once heard, it is never forgotten and that ominous sound was coming from just ahead in Elora’s general direction.
The werewolf was crouched on a stone fence a few feet above her head. He was not fully turned, but was far enough into the shift to be hirsute, fangy, and all round bona fide terrifying. Plus he was a big son-of-a-bitch. Ram was instantly smacked by a huge release of adrenaline that surged all the way to the marrow in his bones. That combined with the acute fright had him trembling, shaking so hard he could barely reach for a weapon.
He might have been at risk for a heart attack if he wasn't so young and physically fit. The sight of an aggressive, angry, half-turned werewolf sitting just above Elora’s head, growling at her, well, Ram had only thought he’d known fear before that.
Oddly, his mind flashed on the image of Kay’s face saying, “Please demon.” That’s exactly what Ram wanted to do - fall to his knees and say, “Please werewolf.”
Very slowly, trying not to alarm the creature, he reached inside his coat and pulled out a draw’n hook. It was a weapon modeled after a crossbow, in miniature version, except more powerful and, instead of an arrow, it shot a three-pronged hook attached to a line. The hook was curved and barbed like a fishhook so that, once embedded it would hold. If he could get a shot off, he could grab the line and pull the werewolf away from her – dead or alive, but he would have to shoot before the creature moved.
While Ram raised his weapon, Elora was standing very still watching the werewolf. It almost looked like he was her prey and not the other way around. When he leapt for her, she simply waited for gravity to pull him close, then, without batting an eye she stepped aside, reached up and, in lieu of a scruff, grabbed him by the back collar of his shirt in a manner similar to the way a mother wolf would discipline a cub. Except that a she-wolf would not repeatedly dash a cub against a stone wall while he howled like he was signaling the start of Armageddon.
When Elora released him he whimpered, but made no move to either renew the attack or escape. He slumped against the wall holding one arm and licking it. "Cromm the Bloody Cruiach. That hurt!" he said with a thick Irish accent. "What sort of bloody people do they have workin' for The Order these days?"
By this time Ram and Baka were standing next to Elora. Ram had traded weapons and now had a long barrel gun with silencer trained on the hapless shifter. As the werewolf started to stand, the three hunters backed up a couple of paces giving themselves time to react to sudden movements, but, at the same time, making an arc around him so that he was trapped. Unless he wanted to try to jump straight up.
They didn't want to kill him until they learned whether or not there were any more troublemakers.
He was Red Irish with rust colored hair and a beard a few shades darker. His eyes appeared small because his cheeks were puffed and rounded in an unfortunate piggish look and the tint of his skin could only be described as pink. These things combined to a result that meant he was undoubtedly more handsome in wolf form.
Elora was irritable. "Retract your fangs! I can't understand a thing you're saying."
"I did!" He whined in protest. "I have an overbite!"
After a few beats of processing that, Elora simply said, "Oh."
Baka wasn't quite successful at stifling a snicker.
The werewolf leaned toward Elora and sniffed loudly. "You're growin' a pup".
Ram immediately moved in front of Elora. "Step away now or forfeit somethin' you prize."
Elora never objected to his acting out male mate instinct. She secretly thought it was sort of cute and... sexy.
Incredibly, the werewolf looked offended by Ram's repositioning and hostile declaration. "I would ne'er hurt a royal."
Elora regarded him curiously. "What makes you think I'm a royal?"
He threw up his hands. "Excuse me while I say 'duh'." He glanced toward Ram. "The poser does no' need to protect you from me."
"Poser?" Ram was past astonished to be insulted by a werewolf, particularly when said werewolf had been singled out for sanction and was presently facing the receiving end of a terminating weapon.
Elora felt defensive about Ram. "Look here, werewolf, not that it's relevant in any way, but the elf you're addressing is an Irish prince."
The werewolf spat out a disagreeable laugh and looked at Ram. "The poser is lifetimes away from bein' a real prince."
Ram continued to gape and his color darkened. "My family has held the monarchy for fifteen hundred years!"
Elora tilted her chin toward Ram and regarded him quizzically. "I thought you don't care about such things, Ram."
He looked a little discombobulated, but lowered his voice. "I do no'."
Puzzled by that whole exchange, Elora decided it was neither here nor there. "Okay, then." Turning back to the beast she said, "So. What's your problem, werewolf?"
"It took you long enough, did it no'? I've been sendin' bloody letters for weeks."
"You've been sending the letters?"
"Aye. Now did you bring the silver or no'?"
Elora looked as mystified by the werewolf's behavior as Ram.
Baka said. "Apparently he wants to die."
Ram immediately raised his weapon. "Here. Let me help you with that."
Elora put her hand on top of the gun and gently - for her - pushed the deadly end down so that it pointed to the ground then turned back to the werewolf. "Why do you want to die?'
He lifted one shoulder and let it drop. "'Cause I'm the last one."
Ram looked stymied and impatient. "The last one what?"
"What do you think, blondie? The last werewolf."
Elora could see that the smart mouth werewolf standing in front of her wanting to expire was about to get his wish because her husband was one remark away from throttling the bugger.
"Werewolf, listen to me carefully. The person standing to my right, whom you seem bent on calling out, happens to be the most famous Black Swan knight alive." Hearing those words pour from that mouth he lived to kiss made Ram stand a little straighter and swell with pride like she'd pulled the cord on an inflatable raft. "I strongly recommend that you cork it until we sort things out. If you persist, I won't intervene on your behalf again. Nor will I feel sorry for you when he shows you why he should have your utmost respect. Either take my word for it or get schooled the hard way. Werewolf’s choice. Do we understand each other?"
The werewolf hesitated, but nodded. Reluctantly.
"What's your name?"
"Harefoot."
Elora thought Baka could have tried harder to stifle the ensuing laughter. She gave him a dirty look, but he just mimed a zip-it mouth and reached for the little spiral notebook he'd been carrying in his pocket ever since a night in a New York alley when he'd needed to jot down notes.
Even though Baka wasn't currently writing vampire romances, his modus operandi ran along the lines of "you never know what the future might slap you with". So he liked to keep his escape hatches open and handy. Extra long life tends to give one a big picture sort of perspective.
The werewolf watched him start scribbling in his little book and then said to no one in particular, "People usually call me Harry."
At that, Baka and Ram both laughed so hard they were leaning on each other for support.
Elora just looked at them and sighed. To the werewolf she said, "I'll just call you werewolf."
Harry shrugged indicating he didn't care one way or the other. "Suits me."
Baka laughed even harder.
The werewolf was now becoming indignant. To Elora he said, "Either kill me or shut the fuckin' vampire up now."
That sobered Baka quickly. He blinked at Harry like he was a new species.
Elora studied Baka for a minute and then returned her attention to Harry. "Why do you think he's a vampire, uh, Harry?"
The werewolf just looked at her. "Ain't he?"
Elora chewed her bottom lip while trying to decide whether to tell the truth or not.
"No. Not anymore. We cured him of vampirism. Although we can't do a thing about his personality." Elora paused just long enough to give Baka an amused look.
"Okay. Here's the thing. You're not the last. Far from it. There are self-governing werewolf reservations all over North America. In Canada, the Pacific Northwest, Louisiana - although I really don't get that one because... fur is hot. You know?" Harefoot nodded wholeheartedly. "We could find out who is accepting immigrants and arrange for you to connect."
Harry just stared at Elora until Ram finally broke the silence. "You okay?"
"Yes. Thank you," he said meekly sounding like a changed werewolf. "Can we go now?"
Elora gave Ram a 'what the hell' glance before saying to Harry, "Um, well, you'll need to come back to Edinburgh with us. We'll make arrangements from there. Do you want to pack a bag?"
Harry looked down the block for a minute then said, "Yes. Please."
Ram stepped toward him. "Look here, Irish to Irish, 'tis safe for me to put this weapon down?"
Harry was deceptively contrite. "I said I would no' hurt a real royal. 'Tis no' for me to be pointin’ out that she married beneath her."
Harry had managed to accomplish what no one else ever had. He’d rendered Ram speechless. He just stared at Harry with his mouth open. Harry looked at Elora. "He's a mouth breather? 'Tis even worse than I thought."
Elora said, "Ram. Maybe there's something seriously wrong with him. It seems like more than a simple social maladjustment. Maybe a true death wish? Or masochism? I don't know. I'm no psychologist."
"Maybe we best be findin' out what's the matter with him before we're responsible for foistin' the fucker off on some poor unsuspectin' tribe. I can just hear it now. Look what Black Swan sent us."
Elora regarded Harry with pity. "You may have a point."
"At the least he's deranged. As you said, werewolves usually avoid cities."
"Hello! Standin' right here you know." Harry couldn't seem to keep the belligerence out of his tone for longer than two minutes at a time.
"So why are you here in the big middle of London, Harry?" Elora asked.
The Witch's Dream - A Paranormal Romance (The Order of the Black Swan, BOOK TWO) Page 19
