“I’ll see you at Ruth’s Chris at six thirty,” he said in his low, suave, slightly growly voice. “I’ll have them ice the champagne, and we’ll buy the biggest, rarest filet mignon we can get. I think a nice Bordeaux would be good, too—perhaps a Château Lafite Rothschild?”
“But…”
“Now, ma puce, I would love to stay, but before we meet, I have one more errand to attend to. Georges will pick you up in front of the building at six fifteen. You look stunning in that suit—no need to go home and change.” He kissed me on the cheek again, his bristly cheek brushing mine, his smell enveloping me, dredging up old memories. “I’m so looking forward to it,” he said. “An evening with my daughter, to catch up on all we’ve missed. What could be better?”
Before I could answer, he swept out of my office, said a few words to Sally, and was gone.
And I hadn’t even had to call security.
“Why didn’t you tell me he was here?” It had taken me fifteen minutes to regain my equilibrium. When I finally succeeded, the first thing I did was call my mother.
“I tried, sweetheart. I called your cell. The phone died, remember?”
“You could have left me a message at the office!”
“I did.”
I glanced at the phone; sure enough, the message light was blinking.
“So,” she said. “What do you think? Isn’t he charming?”
“Not particularly,” I lied. “But he wants to have dinner tonight.”
“I know. He invited me to come along, but I thought it would be best if you two got to know each other without me. He still looks wonderful, doesn’t he?” my mother said.
“You’re not considering getting involved with him again, are you?”
“Me? I’ve got Marvin now.” I still didn’t understand my mother’s attraction to an attorney who could be a body double for Danny DeVito. But even Danny DeVito was better than a werewolf, I supposed. “I wouldn’t want to leave you to go back to Paris with him anyway.” She paused for a moment, then added, “Plus, I did a reading. The cards advised against it.”
So she had considered it. Which was understandable, really; Luc Garou might be a piss-poor father, but he was a good-looking man. Even if he did look twenty years younger than my mom. “I’m not going,” I said.
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to get involved. My life is finally getting straightened out. I’ve got a good job, I’ve worked out a truce with the Houston pack, and everything’s going smoothly. I don’t need any complications.”
“Darling, you should go. Just to talk to him; he’ll be able to give you advice on all the things I wasn’t able to help you with while you were growing up. Besides, he’s quite high up in the werewolf hierarchy these days, I understand. He’d be a good ally to have.”
“What do you mean, werewolf hierarchy?”
“He’s the alpha of the Paris pack.”
Alpha of the Paris pack? He’d evidently been moving up in the world. “So what? I live in Austin.”
“Have dinner with him,” my mother said. “For me.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said.
“Don’t think about it; just do it.”
“We’ll see,” I said.
“A cosmopolitan, please. A big one.”
As the waitress headed for the bar, I sank back into the couch and eyed the door to Ruth’s Chris. After debating it all afternoon, I’d decided it wouldn’t hurt to at least hear out Luc Garou. Besides, I had to admit I was curious. It’s not every day you get a chance to talk with your long-estranged father.
The waitress appeared a few minutes later with a big, frosty glass of cranberry-laced vodka. I thanked her and sucked down a third of it; I needed all the courage I could get, even if it did come with a wedge of lime.
Six thirty came and went. So did six forty-five. I busied myself fiddling with my lime wedge and watching the other patrons. And becoming increasingly pissed. Against my better judgment I’d agreed to have dinner with my father—only to be stood up.
At six fifty I drained the rest of my cosmo, left a ten on the table, and grabbed my purse, feeling like an idiot for being taken in by the jerk who called himself my father.
I was halfway down the street and heading toward the parking garage—I hadn’t waited for Georges, whoever he was, to pick me up—when I heard my name.
“Sophie!”
I hesitated for a moment, then picked up the pace. I’d given him his chance; it wasn’t my fault he couldn’t manage to show up on time.
And then he was beside me, his hand on my arm. “I’m so sorry I was late. I was … detained.”
I turned to give him my iciest look. Luc Garou’s red hair was wild, as if he’d been running, and something that looked like a scratch mark trailed down his cheek.
He smoothed his hair down and adjusted the lapels of his sportcoat, fixing me with his shimmery golden eyes. Eyes that looked exactly like mine, right down to the flecks of green speckling the irises. “Please,” he said in a thick French accent. “Georges has confirmed our reservation, and the staff has already set aside a bottle of Dom Pérignon for us.” He gently grasped my elbow. “Forgive my tardiness. Won’t you join me?”
And before I knew it, he was guiding me back toward the restaurant. I was addled again by his scent—it brought back such strong associations. Memories that danced just out of reach—just flashes, really. I took a deep breath and willed myself to stay calm. “What happened to your face?” I asked as he opened the door to the restaurant a moment later.
He cocked an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“You have a scratch,” I said. “Right along your cheekbone.”
He touched it with his fingers, tracing the line, and shrugged. “I do not know.”
I couldn’t swear it, but it looked half-healed already. As I stared at the scratch, Luc smiled at the hostess, who blushed prettily and then led us to a secluded table in a corner of the restaurant. She shot me an envious glance as she handed me a menu. If she only knew, I thought.
He asked the young woman if she would bring out the Dom Pérignon, and she nodded, blushing to the dark roots of her blond hair. As she hurried to the bar, he reached across the table and squeezed my hands in his own. “Sophie.” His voice changed; it was husky with what might have been emotion. “I have missed you so much,” he said, devouring me with his eyes. “But I am enchanté to finally meet you. Your mother has done a wonderful job raising you. And you are strong, very strong; you and me, we are cut from the same cloth.”
I wasn’t sure I agreed with him—I liked to think I was a bit more reliable, for starters—but I didn’t challenge him. For now, anyway. “After you sent us out of the country, why didn’t you bother to track us down?” I asked.
“I tried,” he said, shrugging. “But it was not possible. You and your mother, you simply vanished.”
“You didn’t have any trouble finding me today,” I pointed out.
“That is because you reestablished contact with our world,” he said. “I wasn’t sure it was you—I feared it was nothing but a rumor—but the moment I heard a whisper of your name, I came to find out for myself.” He smiled that toothy smile again. “And here you are. Gorgeous, smart… perfect.”
I ignored the flattery. “Our world?”
“You know what I mean,” he said, and at that moment, the waitress arrived with an ice bucket and two flutes.
He smiled up at her, flashing that devilish grin, and like the hostess, she melted. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes: my father, the werewolf Casanova. “Thank you, my dear,” he said to the young woman after she poured a bit for him to sample. When we were both supplied with glasses of bubbly, he nodded at the waitress in approval. “Perfect. Now, for an appetizer, we will start with an order of the mushrooms, if you would be so kind.” Then he turned to me. “Sophie, ma chérie, I propose a toast.”
“To what?” I asked.
“To our reunion,” he said, and
I grudgingly clinked glasses with him. I wasn’t sure I was on board with the whole reunion thing, but the champagne was fabulous. “Now,” he said, turning to the menu. “Have you decided what you desire?”
What I desired, really, was that Luc Garou had never turned up on my doorstep, but it was a little late for that. So I went for an order of rare filet mignon instead. When the waitress disappeared, the werewolf across the table—my father, I reminded myself—focused on me again. “I recently learned that you and your mother were living here, and that you have been in contact with Wolfgang, in Houston.”
“You know Wolfgang?”
“Oh, yes. Herr Graf and I have a long history,” he said wryly. “I think he will be less than delighted to discover my presence here, but it is no matter.” He gave me a Gallic shrug. Then his gold eyes bored into me again, oozing sincerity. “I know your mother has told you this, but if there had been any way—any way at all—for you to stay safely in Paris, I never would have let you leave.”
“Oh?” I said frostily. “I hear you’re a bigwig over there now. Alpha of Paris and all.”
“Yes,” he said, puffing his chest out slightly, reminding me of the silverback gorillas on Animal Planet. “I have risen through the ranks. As will you, of course.”
I held up a hand. “Nope. Not going there.”
“But my darling,” he said, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. My darling. Like we’d known each other for twenty years, not twenty minutes. “You cannot avoid it. It is your destiny.” He smiled smugly. “Wolfgang must brace himself; he will lose a second time.”
“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”
He nodded sagely. “Of course you don’t know our history. He wouldn’t have told you, would he?”
“Told me what?” I asked, taking another sip of champagne. The flavor was incredible—pears, vanilla, and even a bit of plumminess—and my wolfie senses were overwhelmed for a moment by the complexity.
“Does it meet with your approval?” Luc Garou asked.
“It’s delicious,” I said, still half-overcome by the flavors. Was that a note of apple in there? Sophie, I told myself sternly. Stop thinking about the champagne. I forced myself to set the glass down and focus.
Luc gave me an approving smile and continued. “You come from a very powerful family, my dear. And Wolfgang Graf was formerly the alpha of the Alsace territory.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“The position of alpha in Strasbourg is currently being filled by your aunt, Marguerite Garou, and her consort, Bertrand.” Once again, he puffed his chest out a bit.
“So in other words, your sister beat out Wolfgang for some French province a hundred years ago.”
“A hundred and fifty, actually. And it was accomplished with some assistance from the Paris pack, I’m happy to say.”
“And I have an aunt,” I said. It was strange to think of some French werewolf being my aunt. Then again, it was strange to think of some French werewolf being my father.
“You have many relations,” he said. “All of whom, I’m sure, would be delighted to make your acquaintance.”
“Oh? Whatever happened to the old ethnic purity thing?” I could feel anger welling in me. “You know—the whole reason you kicked my mother and me out of France? Or was that just a convenient excuse so you could continue being Don Juan?”
“Don Juan was Spanish, not French,” he corrected me.
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever.”
“Certain things have changed over the past quarter century,” he said. “Et bien sur, if you were a weakling, or had not inherited the gift, it would be a completely different issue.”
The gift ? Being born a werewolf was considered a gift ?
Luc ignored my incredulous expression and continued. “But with me as your sire, and your fortitude …” he shrugged again. “It would be, how shall I say? Academic. And they will be even more welcoming when you have achieved the status of alpha.”
“I’m sorry. What did you just say?”
“You will, of course, be taking over the Texas packs.”
I took a deep werewolf-and-champagne-scented breath. “Look,” I said. “I think we need to get something straight. I am not planning on going to France to meet relatives who wanted nothing to do with me when I was born, just because my mother wasn’t a werewolf. And I have no desire—absolutely none at all—to join a pack, much less fight somebody for the position of alpha.”
“But you are a Garou,” he said, as if that made any difference whatsoever.
“My last name may be Garou,” I said. “But I am a partner in a prestigious accounting firm, with a fully human identity. An identity I’m not interested in giving up, thank you very much.” I paused to take another sip of champagne, and wavered. If being part of the Paris pack meant ready access to Dom Pérignon, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to join up after all. Or at least pay them a brief visit…
Then my father’s voice pulled me back to reality. “Sophie. Ma chérie. Can you not see that it is your destiny to wrest control of the pack from Wolfgang? It would not do for a Garou to be a subject of a Graf.”
I put down my champagne and stared right into those shimmery golden eyes, ignoring the jumble of feelings that was swirling around somewhere deep inside me. “Let me get this straight,” I said. “You came all this way just to tell me you expect me to overthrow Wolfgang and take his place as alpha?”
“But you are a Garou,” he repeated, not seeing the problem. “Of course that is what you want. It is your birthright.” He shrugged. “I am simply offering to help you achieve it. After all, I could not be there in your formative years, but I can offer you my assistance now.”
“Sorry,” I said. “But I’m not interested.” I stood up and retrieved my purse.
“Where are you going?” he asked, looking mildly surprised.
“Home,” I said.
“But we’ve got Château Lafite coming out at any second. And your filet…”
But my willpower remained strong. With a last wistful glance at my champagne flute, I turned on my heel and marched to the door.
“How did it go?”
“Poorly,” I told my mother, cradling the phone between my ear and my shoulder as I reached in the pantry for my stash of Valrhona dark chocolate. It was French chocolate, which wasn’t ideal—right now France wasn’t exactly my favorite country—but it was still chocolate.
“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that, darling,” my mother said.
“The whole reason he came back is that he wants me to do my ‘family duty’ and move up the werewolf ranks.”
“Sweetheart, I’m sure that’s not the only reason.”
“Actually, I’m pretty sure it is. And now that he’s decided I’m not some weird hybrid mutant he should be ashamed of, he’s ready to take me back to France so he can parade me around to all the relatives.”
“See?” she said. “It’s not all about your position with the pack; he wants to take you back into the fold. He mentioned that they’d loosened up the rules on cross-species matings. Isn’t that fabulous news?”
I knew my mom was a Pollyanna, but this was taking it a bit far. I took another bite of chocolate and said, “Of course, he wants me to kick Wolfgang and Elena out and make myself Houston’s alpha first.” Since the former female alpha, Anita, had been exposed as a traitor—she had been plotting with the Mexican packs to take over Texas—she’d been replaced by another female werewolf, Elena. Like her predecessor, Elena hadn’t exactly taken to me; I seemed to be more popular with the males of the species.
My mother was quiet for a moment. “I’m sure he was joking.”
“Don’t think so,” I said through a mouthful of Valrhona. “Apparently my aunt beat out Wolfgang for control of some European territory a long time ago. I gather that’s why he’s now in charge of Houston instead of Strasbourg.”
“What does that have to do with you being an alpha?
”
“Luc Garou seems to think the Garous should repeat history here in the New World. For the family honor.”
“Oh. Hm.” She was quiet for a moment. “What did you tell him?” she asked.
“What do you think I told him?”
“That you’d think about it?”
“No!”
She sighed. “Well, then, at least that’s settled. What else did you talk about?”
“We didn’t,” I said. “I left.”
“I’m so sorry, honey.”
I swallowed a mouthful of chocolate and said, “Me, too.” And to my surprise, I was sorry. I’d never expected to see my father—but I guess secretly I’d always hoped that if I did ever find him, it would be a warm, loving reunion. Instead, despite the sugary words, the whole meeting had been about Luc Garou, and the family name. Which, based on his track record to date, shouldn’t have been a surprise.
But it was certainly a disappointment.
“He’s planning to stay in the Austin area for a while,” she said. “Is there any way you would give him a second chance? There’s so much you could learn from him.”
“Mom, could we talk about something else?”
“Of course, darling.” She was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “Are you going to the Howl?”
Which was not exactly what I had in mind when I said “something else”. “Have you been listening to anything I’ve said, Mom? Of course I’m not going,” I said.
“Is Tom going?”
“If Lindsey has anything to say about it, he is.”
“Is she still asking to be turned?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“So you’re not considering it.”
“Of course not. She’s my best friend.”
“It would be a very special gift,” she said.
“Mom, if I could give it back, I would. It’s not something I would wish on anyone, especially my best friend.”
“But isn’t it her decision?”
“She has no idea what she’s asking for,” I said.
“I suppose you know what’s best,” she said in a tone of voice that implied just the opposite.
Leader Of The Pack Page 2
