“I think Germany’s called the fatherland,” Lindsey pointed out. “But anyway, you’re right; a lot of them probably wouldn’t be overly chatty with the daughter of the guy who helped overthrow them, even if it was like two hundred years ago.”
“Stupid grudges.” I sighed. “So it’s a dead end.”
“Not necessarily,” she said. “Not everyone in the pack goes back to the old country, I’ll bet. Besides, what if they didn’t know you were his daughter?”
“My last name’s Garou,” I reminded her. “It’s not exactly a common name.”
“That’s why I think you should go incognito.”
I touched my hair. “Since I look like Luc Garou’s clone, that’s going to be tough.”
She shrugged. “Change your hair, wear different clothes. Change your name.”
I thought about her idea for a moment. It was interesting, but I wasn’t sure it would work. “What about my scent?” I asked. “I can’t hide that.”
“Yes, you can. Remember? No one can smell you if you don’t want them to. That’s why the Houston pack asked for your help when Hubert was missing.”
“Oh, yeah.” That was how I’d gotten to know Hubert, who was Wolfgang’s cousin. The pack had sent me to track him down earlier this spring, and we had spent a good bit of time bonding—in shackles. We were still friends.
“I’ll bet Hubert could say you were a friend of his, in town from… I don’t know. Topeka? Anchorage? Zimbabwe? Something far away.”
“What about Wolfgang? And Elena?”
“You’ll just have to stay away from them, I guess.”
“It’s a crazy idea,” I said. “It would never work.”
“You could always get in touch with your uncle, then.” She cocked an eyebrow. “Or Heath.”
In other words, I was screwed. “All right. I’ll give it a shot.”
“Good,” she said glancing at her watch. “I’ve got a meeting in ten minutes, so I’ve got to go. Call me and tell me what happens, okay?”
“Will do,” I said.
“I’ll close the door behind me,” she said.
“Thanks.” The last thing I needed was to have Sally overhear my conversation with Hubert.
When the door clicked shut, leaving only a trace of Lindsey’s signature perfume—Beautiful—I picked up the phone and dialed Hubert’s cell phone number. He picked up on the third ring, and listened politely while I outlined our plan.
“I wish I could help you,” he said, “but I’m afraid I won’t be at the Howl tomorrow evening.”
“What do you mean, you won’t be at the Howl?”
“I’ll be there for the morning talks, but afterward … I’m not much of a social animal, I suppose.”
“Couldn’t you make an exception?” I gripped the phone. “Hubert, I need you.”
“Why don’t you ask Tom?” he suggested. “I think it’s an excellent idea; it’s just that I’m not the person to help you. Even if I were to attend it would raise eyebrows to have a female accompany me. I’m engaged to a young werewolf from Bratislava.”
“Bratislava?”
“We met while I was researching ancient pack-mating rituals in Slovakia.”
“Ah.”
“I would recommend you contact Tom; he is unaffiliated, and is known to have a wide circle of female acquaintances.”
“Is that so?” I asked.
“Oh, yes. He has quite a reputation among the females of the species.”
“I had no idea,” I said, wondering if Lindsey knew about Tom’s reputation. Probably not.
Hubert kept talking, interrupting my private speculation regarding Tom’s evidently quite colorful romantic history. “If he said you were a friend from one of the northern territories, it could work. Maybe the Minneapolis pack, or one of the smaller organizations.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said. Not a very good one, of course, since I knew absolutely squat about Minneapolis. But since I couldn’t come up with anything better, I kept my mouth shut and tried not to think of what the pack might do to me if they discovered I was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Or someone else’s clothing, anyway.
I pushed morbid thoughts of rabid, stake-wielding packs from my mind and adopted a bright tone of voice. “What’s the schedule this evening?”
“A deer run,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“It’s kind of like a hunt, where everyone competes to take down the largest animal. The wild hunt will be in a couple of days. This is kind of a warm-up.”
“Everyone hunts in wolf form, I presume?”
“How else would one hunt?”
I don’t know. With a gun? At least I wouldn’t have to worry too much about my wardrobe. “What time?”
“It starts at seven.”
“I’ll call Tom now,” I said. “Thanks for the tip.”
I hung up a moment later and flipped through my card file, my fingers lingering on Tom’s cream-colored business card, which bore his name and a phone number. After a minute of deliberation, I took a deep breath and dialed.
“Hello.” His voice was deep and throaty, and even that one word was tinged with one of those tantalizing European accents that make American women weak at the knees. Or maybe it was just me.
“Tom,” I said.
“Sophie.” Hearing him say my name sent a tingle through me. Which I ignored, of course.
“I need a favor,” I said.
It took a bit of convincing, but when I pointed out that it would look a little weird for him to be asking questions about the pack, he relented. “It’s risky, but I admit the options are limited. You have a knack for disguising your scent,” he said, “but even so, we’ll have to avoid Wolfgang and Elena. And you should change your human appearance as much as possible.”
“What about my wolf aspect?”
“That would be a challenge. But fortunately, I am the only werewolf who has seen you in your lupine form,” he pointed out.
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“I’ll meet you at your place at five,” Tom said. “That should get us there by seven.”
“Looking forward to it,” I said. And it was actually true, which made no sense, since it wasn’t exactly a dream date or anything.
He chuckled, sending another little tingle through my nether regions, and said, “That makes two of us.”
Even if I did end up sporting a few silver bullets, I thought, at least I’d have spent the evening in good company. Of course, Lindsey would probably decapitate me when she found out, but I figured I’d cross that bridge when I got to it.
I had just hung up the phone and was still wearing a goofy smile when it rang again. I grabbed the receiver. “Sophie Garou.”
“How’s my favorite party animal?” The voice was low, and undeniably sexy. Mark.
“I’ve had better days,” I confessed, feeling guilty for looking forward to an evening with Tom.
“Any progress on dear old dad?”
“Not so far, but I’m working on it.” For some reason I wasn’t inclined to tell Mark I was going to be posing as Tom’s date tonight.
“I’d ask if you’re free this evening, but I imagine you have other plans.”
“I do.”
“Ah, well. We’ll just have to save the intemperance for another night.”
“Good things come to those who wait,” I said, remembering his smoky smell. And the heat of his skin …
“Anything I can do to help?” he asked, jolting me from what was rapidly morphing into an X-rated fantasy. “I can spring your dad if you need me to.”
“Thanks for the offer,” I said. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
“What happened to your hair?” Tom asked when I answered the door at five thirty. Hubert was with him, but he seemed to fade into the wallpaper next to Tom, whose werewolf scent was particularly musky tonight. Either that or I was just feeling sex-deprived.
I forced myself to stop staring at Tom and turned to Hub
ert. “Are you going, too?”
He shook his head. “I’m just here to help prepare you. Tom asked me to come.” He stared at my hair.
“What do you think?” I asked, reaching up to touch my head.
“It’s certainly distinctive,” Hubert said, diplomatic as always.
“It’s a disguise,” I explained. “Do you think it will work?”
When I told Lindsey I’d need help going incognito, she’d told Adele we both had a client meeting and escorted me directly to the hair-color aisle of CVS. We repaired to my loft shortly thereafter, armed with a bottle of something that looked like shoe polish but promised hair the color of “Midnight Satin.”
“You have to tell me everything,” Lindsey had said after ruining three towels with streaky dye and turning my hair a dull black that was not ideal for my skin tone. In fact, it made me look like I was suffering from an advanced case of jaundice. “And don’t worry about your hair,” she added. “It says it will wash out in ten shampoos.”
“I’m more worried about what happens to it when I transform,” I said, staring at my ghastly reflection in the bathroom mirror. If it was this bad when I was human, I could only imagine how I would look with a reddish-gold fur coat and a black mop on my head.
“I hadn’t thought about that,” Lindsey said. “We could always dye the rest of your hair, I guess.”
“No,” I said quickly, snatching the bottle of dye from her hand.
“Are you sure I can’t come with you?” she asked.
“I’m going to a multi-pack werewolf hunt, Lindsey. And you’re a human. Does that sound like a good idea?”
She bit her lip. “I hadn’t thought of it in those terms. Well, perhaps an evening in wouldn’t hurt.”
And thankfully, that was the last I’d heard of it.
Now I was wondering if I wasn’t insane for trying to make it through the Howl undetected. The hair-color change had sounded good at the time, but since I’d noticed black streaks on not just my towels, but the backs of my new couches, I was starting to question the choice of temporary dye. Maybe a wig would have been better.
As Tom and Hubert stood eyeing my unfortunate appearance, I touched my hair self-consciously and said, “It was Lindsey’s idea.”
“And that… aroma?” Hubert asked.
“Calvin Klein’s Euphoria,” I said. I’d sprayed about a gallon of the stuff on, just in case my weird scent-shielding power was on the fritz, and after sitting in the loft with myself for almost twenty minutes, I was convinced my nose was permanently damaged.
“It certainly is … intense,” Hubert said, wrinkling his nose and taking a step back. Hubert’s thin face resembled his cousin Wolfgang’s—pale, Nordic skin, sharp eyes, and strong cheekbones. Only without all the alpha male stuff going on. Hubert looked a little monkish, really—kind of like a werewolf ascetic. He gave me a polite, if slightly worried, smile. “It’s certainly … a change.”
Tom, although obviously trying to avoid sniffing through his nose, looked like he was trying not to laugh. I ignored him and focused on Hubert.
“Enough of one to disguise me, do you think?”
“You’ve certainly disguised your natural features,” Hubert said as he and Tom stepped into my loft. In addition to my new inky black ’do, Lindsey had applied black liquid eyeliner, raccoon style. Not to mention so much mascara that my eyelashes kept sticking together.
“Can I get you guys something to drink?”
“Perhaps a quick aquavit?” Tom asked hopefully.
“Sorry. I do have Macallan, though.” A relic from my time with Heath.
“Thanks, but no,” he said. I had to agree with him; scotch smelled like turpentine to me. Although I had doused myself with so much perfume, tonight it might be just fine.
When Hubert, too, declined a drink, I cut to the chase. “What’s my story?”
“Hubert’s got it all worked out,” Tom said.
“I did some research on common werewolf names, and where they originate. Your name is Inga Lindholm,” Hubert said, his eyes darting to the window, which I suspected he was wishing was open. “You come from a small pack outside of Minneapolis,” he continued. “You and Tom met on a business trip, and he invited you to join him at the Howl.”
“So are we … together?” I asked.
Hubert shifted uncomfortably. “That would not be permissible, not without pack approval. Let’s just say that your presence at the Howl would be … a sign of mutual interest.”
“So we’re kind of dating,” I clarified.
“Essentially, yes,” he said.
I turned to Tom. “I hear you’ve been with quite a number of werewolves.”
“I have been on the dating scene for several hundred years,” he pointed out, golden eyes glimmering with something that looked suspiciously like suppressed amusement.
“Does Lindsey know about that?”
“Does Lindsey know you and I are going to the Howl together?” he countered.
“Not exactly,” I conceded.
I forced myself not to think about the extremely erotic kiss Tom and I had shared less than a month ago, right outside my loft. Would we be going to the Howl on his motorcycle? I wondered. I forced myself not to think of what it would feel like to be pressed up against Tom for an hour and a half, and turned to Hubert instead. “Will I meet any long-lost relatives at this thing?”
“I certainly hope not,” he said. “That is why I selected a small pack as your family. Your parents are originally from Sweden, but you’ve been here for many years, and don’t remember all the details of your heritage.”
“I’m Swedish?” I asked.
“For tonight, you are.”
I wished I’d known that when Lindsey and I were cruising the hair-color aisle at CVS that afternoon. “Are you sure I can’t be Italian, or something? I mean …” I gestured toward my hair.
Hubert bit his thin lip. “That is a point I hadn’t considered. Perhaps your mother had some Spanish blood.”
“That would probably be a good idea,” I said. I turned back to Tom, who was studying my new look with marked interest. “What?” I asked.
“It’s an interesting look,” he said. “I’m still adjusting to it.” His eyes traveled down to the brief but rather snug miniskirt I’d donned for the occasion. “I’m particularly fond of the hemline.”
“Thank you,” I said primly, adjusting my short skirt and trying not to blush. All business, that was me. “What’s our story?”
“You and Tom met while he was doing a little work up north. You decided to come south to get away from the cold.”
“How come Tom gets to move all around the country, and other werewolves don’t, except when there’s a Howl?” I asked.
Hubert and Tom exchanged glances. “I provide an unusual service,” Tom said.
I looked at him. “The werewolf unmaking thing?” Tom’s claim to fame—or at least one of them—was his unusual ability to turn werewolves into humans.
He nodded.
“No one else can do it?”
“Not in this generation, no. And to make problems disappear … it is a useful talent.”
“And tends to inspire a healthy dose of respect,” Hubert added. “Besides, he’s of a very old lineage.”
“From Norway. The old country and all. Right.” I adjusted my skirt. “So, is this a casual relationship, then?” I felt my cheeks heating up as I asked the question.
“I think that would be a prudent assumption,” Hubert said.
Huh. “Okay. Any werewolf protocol I should know before going in?”
“Ideally,” Hubert said, “we’d be able to give you a briefing on who is who, but we are short on time, and we have no photographs. Tom, will you fill her in on the important players as you go?”
“Of course,” he said.
“Any general rules I should know?” I asked.
Hubert looked pained. “Werewolf society is very hierarchical. Don’t volunteer much informa
tion, and be respectful. Defer to anyone you don’t know, just in case.”
“In other words, defer to everyone.”
Tom gave me a wry grin. “If you can manage it.”
“Will we all be in human form the whole time, or wolf?”
“Human for the first part of the evening, but we will assume wolf form for the hunt.”
“Tell me more about this ‘hunt’,” I said.
“There is not much to tell,” Tom said. “The pack gathers and then hunts together. As always, deference is given to superiors; the hosting alphas make the first kill. After that, it is fair game.”
It sounded like the best thing to do would be to hang back and let everyone else do the hunting. Not much chance of pumping werewolves for information when they were out trying to sink their teeth into feral pigs, or deer, or whatever it was they hunted. “Got it.”
“Now, when we get there, can you point out anyone I should talk to?” I asked, suddenly feeling very nervous about this whole endeavor.
“Of course,” he said.
“The Houston werewolves will probably be the most informative,” Hubert pointed out.
“Anyone in particular we should look for?”
“Charles Grenier was friendly with several of the males of the pack—but he was also courting a woman named Kayla,” Hubert said. “She might be the best source of information. Tom, do you know what she looks like?”
“I can identify her,” Tom said.
“What do you know about her?” I asked.
Hubert shrugged. “Very little. She occupies a different level of the pack hierarchy; our lives did not intersect very often.”
“You don’t know her either, do you?” I asked Tom.
He shook his head. “Like Hubert, our lives have not intersected much.”
There’s that old werewolf elitism again, I thought. “Surely you knew Charles, at least. He was pretty high on the totem pole, wasn’t he?” I asked.
“Totem pole?” Hubert asked, a furrow in his brow.
“It’s a saying. A totem pole is a tall thing, kind of like a carved tree, that the Indians used to make, with pictures on it.” I made a few illustrative gestures with my hands.
“How does a carved tree relate to pack politics?” Hubert asked, looking puzzled.
Leader Of The Pack Page 7
