Leader Of The Pack

by Karen McInerney

  I raided the first-aid kit and laid out what he’d requested on the bathroom counter. “I’m a little short on gauze—do you want me to run and get some?”

  “I’ll be fine,” he repeated.

  I glanced at his leg, not convinced. Shreds of denim were embedded in the flesh, as were a number of rather large chunks of gravel. “So you rode the rest of the way here like that?”

  He nodded.

  “Ouch.” I watched as he picked the first piece of gravel from his leg. “Are you sure I can’t help you?” I asked. Not that I had much experience picking gravel out of hamburger meat, but I felt I should offer.

  Tom’s eyes strayed to Mark, who leaned against the doorway of the bathroom as Tom lowered himself onto the side of the bathtub. “It will be all right,” he said quietly, his eyes fixed on my client.

  “Let me know if you need anything else,” I said, suddenly very uncomfortable.

  “I wouldn’t mind an aquavit, actually.”

  “Fresh out of aquavit, I’m afraid.” As if anyone who hadn’t grown up in Norway stocked the stuff. “How about a beer, or some scotch?”

  He grimaced and dug another piece of debris out of his thigh. “Better make it scotch.”

  “Got it.” I walked past Mark and poured a large glass of the medicinal-smelling liquid, trying not to breathe in the fumes. I’d had the bottle around for almost a year now, but at this rate, it would be empty before the night was through.

  “Maybe he needs to go to a defensive-driving class,” Mark said as we sat down on the love seat a minute later. He slung an arm over my shoulder and drew me closer to him, which normally would have been enough to set off an explosive chemical reaction in me. And I did feel a stirring, as I always did when he touched me. I looked up into his deep blue eyes, wondering what it was about him that made me so wanton. And wondering what exactly he was, come to think of it.

  But with Tom digging bits of road out of himself in my bathroom—not to mention my rather tenuous family situation—it wasn’t the best moment to indulge my carnal impulses. When Mark leaned over to nuzzle my earlobe, I pulled away a little bit.

  “Mark,” I said, reaching over to squeeze his leg gently. “I was thinking, maybe we should just get together another night. It’s hard to be romantic with … company,” I said, pointing toward the bathroom door.

  He stared at the closed door for a moment. “You want me to leave you here with Tom?”

  “It’s not what I want,” I said.

  His eyes flickered. “Are you certain?”

  “Of course, Mark!” I said, feeling flustered. “It’s just that under the circumstances …”

  “Call me Ash,” Mark said urgently.

  “Ash?”

  “Ashmodei,” he said, his voice strange.

  “Ashmodei,” I whispered, and my whole body flushed with heat, which seemed to be emanating from—or centering on—the ring Mark had given me. The moment I spoke the name, Mark stood in a fluid movement, eyes burning with barely suppressed desire. He pulled me up after him and pressed my body to his, igniting a wave of lust that—Tom or no Tom—had me wanting to rip his clothes off and push him right back down onto the love seat.

  He looked down at me and ran a finger along my chin. Slowly, seductively, so that I couldn’t help wanting him to take it further … “I will accede to your request,” he said formally, his voice with a hint of an accent—which was strange, since I hadn’t ever noticed it before. “But remember,” he continued, staring at me from those incredible eyes, “that you belong to me.”

  There’s that whole possessive thing again, some distant, disconnected portion of my mind whispered. But my body was in the driver’s seat; and it just didn’t care. Mark’s smoky smell intensified, kindling a matching response deep inside me, and for a moment I thought I saw a blue flame flicker in those dark, dark pupils. Then he lowered his mouth to mine and kissed me with an intensity that left me gasping for breath.

  As I stood by the love seat, panting, he bowed slightly, his eyes never leaving mine. “I will call you tomorrow,” he said. “In the meantime, as your mother said … be careful.”

  “I will,” I whispered, desperate for him to stay, to keep touching me …

  But after one last kiss, he strode to the door and was gone.

  By the time Tom emerged from the bathroom with a giant wad of gauze poking out from under what remained of his jeans, I was halfway through a mug of wolfsbane tea and had managed to regain my composure. Or at least most of it.

  “Doing better?” I asked.

  “I’ve been worse,” he said. “If I could trouble you for another scotch—and a couple of ibuprofen?”

  “Coming right up,” I said. Normally, I was cautious about mixing drugs with alcohol, but from what I’d seen of his leg, Tom needed all the medicinal help he could get.

  “Where’s your friend?” Tom asked, sniffing the air and looking around as I retreated to the kitchen to refill his glass.

  “He left,” I said.

  “I’m surprised.”

  “Why?”

  “He seems quite possessive of you.”

  I couldn’t argue with him there. “So, you hit an oil slick,” I said, anxious to change the subject. “It’s a good thing you weren’t killed.”

  “We werewolves are tougher than we look,” he said. “It was strange, though—I know I hit something slick, but afterward, when I looked at the road, I saw nothing. And I have never had an accident before.”

  “Maybe it was just a little bit of gravel,” I said. “There was certainly enough of it embedded in your leg. Did you get it all out?”

  “I think so,” he said, taking another swig of scotch. “It should be healed in a day or two.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Like I said, we werewolves are tougher than we look.” He stood in the living room, seeming to take up half the space. I struggled to catch my breath.

  “How did the Howl go?” I asked. “Am I still totally on the outs?”

  He chuckled. “It took a bit of persuading, but they didn’t totally ban you. I just explained that after years in a small-town pack, the excitement of a big Howl kind of clouded your judgment. You can come back, but you’ll have to be on your best behavior.”

  I let out the breath I had been holding. “That’s something, at least.”

  “They’re suspicious of you, though. They found the broken window in the garden cottage. If it weren’t for me vouching for you …”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Just be sure to stay away from it next time. Don’t even look at it, if you can help it. I think Elena’s on to you.”

  “I’m not surprised,” I said. Elena seemed destined to be a thorn in my side.

  “I also discovered a few things about Charles,” he said, lowering himself onto the love seat where Mark had been just twenty minutes earlier. His biceps bulged impressively, and the gauze on his elbow stretched and threatened to pop off. I forced myself not to stare at him. After Mark’s kiss, my sex drive was still in high gear. And Tom’s musky werewolf smell, overlaid with what remained of Mark’s smoky scent, was doing all kinds of things to my hormones.

  “Oh?” I asked.

  “Apparently he wasn’t quite as devoted to Kayla as he should have been.”

  “That’s what my father said. What was going on?”

  “Rumor has it that he was involved with another woman. A powerful woman, although no one seems to know exactly who. Some say she is from Louisiana.”

  Men, I thought. Well, men and male werewolves. I sat up. “Do you think Kayla killed him because he was having an affair?”

  Tom’s eyebrows rose. “I thought you said Kayla was in Galveston.”

  “Maybe she wasn’t. Maybe it was just a cover story.”

  “It’s worth looking into.”

  “The problem is, how?” I slumped into the love seat, my desire fizzling at the reminder of my father’s tenuous situation. “I don’t even know where to
begin.”

  “Do you want to go back to the Howl tonight?”

  “Is it a good idea? I mean, the whole buck thing is pretty fresh.”

  He shrugged. “Today, tomorrow—what difference will a night make?”

  “Good point,” I said. “But how are we going to get there?” I pointed to his leg.

  “You do have a car, don’t you?”

  I nodded. “But if I’m going as Inga, it’s a problem. It’s got Texas plates. Besides, my hair is still splotchy; I’d have to redye it.”

  “Then we will wait until tomorrow, then. Hopefully by then my leg will be healed.”

  “I hate to lose the time, though. Besides, I think your leg will probably take longer than a day to heal,” I said.

  “Maybe. Or maybe not.” He raised his glass. “May I have another scotch?”

  “Absolutely,” I said, getting up to refill it. “How can you stand to drink that stuff? It makes my nose hairs curl.”

  He laughed as I handed him his refilled glass. “Years of practice,” he said as I settled into the love seat with my own glass, which I’d topped off with wine. After all, I wouldn’t want my guest to have to drink alone.

  “So,” I said, reclining into the cushions across from Tom and taking a deep breath of his werewolf aroma. Despite the circumstances, there was something delightfully intimate about having him in my living room, and my body was very aware that only a short expanse of leather loveseat separated us. I took a sip of wine. “While I’ve got you here, I’ve been meaning to ask a few questions.”

  “Shoot,” he said, with a hint of challenge in his golden eyes. The light gleamed on his golden hair; he looked like central casting’s top pick for the leader of a Norse pantheon.

  I took a long, deep breath. “I’ve got lots of questions, really. Like, how come you’re not part of a pack? You seem to be one of the only werewolves I’ve met who’s solo. And how was it that your sister was married to Wolfgang?”

  The glint went out of Tom’s eyes, and he swirled the scotch in his glass. The amber liquid was almost the same color as his eyes. “It is a long story.”

  “If we’re not going to the Howl, I’ve got nothing but time,” I said. “Besides, I’m curious about how the whole werewolf world works. Maybe I’ll learn something that will help me get my father off.” I toyed with my own glass. “Tell me about your family. Do you have any brothers or sisters? Other than Astrid, I mean?” I said quickly, remembering that my uncle had dispatched her personally.

  “I have one brother,” he said slowly, staring at the contents of his glass. “His name is Svend Fenris.”

  “Is he in one of the Norwegian packs?”

  “He is the alpha of the Oslo pack, like my father before him.”

  “Wow. So your family is kind of high up in the rankings, too,” I said.

  He nodded. “The Oslo pack is one of the oldest and most powerful; it is very large, and encompasses most of Norway.”

  “What made you decide to leave?”

  He looked up at me with an intensity in his eyes that made it hard to look away. “Do you know anything about how alphas were traditionally chosen?”

  “No. I always assumed it was a lineage thing.”

  “To some extent, it is. It used to be more so, particularly in the old country. The aristocracy passed down through the blood, but that has changed over the last hundred years.”

  “So it goes to the oldest son, like in the human aristocracy?”

  “It goes to the son, or daughter,” he said. “But not necessarily the oldest. The strongest.”

  “Oh.”

  “In most cases there is a battle for supremacy,” he said.

  “What about your case? Did you have to fight your own brother?”

  “No,” he said quietly. “I stepped aside and left the pack.”

  “Wow. He’d turned down a chance to be alpha. “Why did you do it?”

  A muscle twitched in his cheek, and I could smell the tension in him; it was obvious that although this had happened quite some time ago, the pain was still pretty fresh. “If we had fought, I would have had to kill him. He would never have given up the role of alpha; he would sooner have died.”

  “So if you won, you’d lose a brother.”

  He nodded. “I stepped aside. And I do not regret my decision.”

  I leaned toward him a little, wanting to comfort him somehow. But I couldn’t. “Honestly?” I asked.

  Tom shrugged, sending a ripple through his muscular back. “To be alpha? That was never my calling. But…”

  “But what?”

  He sighed. “The role of alpha was not the only thing lost to me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He grimaced. “Her name was Beate.”

  “Oh,” I said, feeling something turn in my stomach. I knew Tom and Lindsey were dating, but this was somehow … different. “You lost your girlfriend because of it.”

  Tom looked away. “She was more than that, really. We were betrothed.”

  Ah. “How exactly did you lose her?” I asked, suddenly afraid that the answer would be that one of my relatives dismembered her, or fed her mistletoe, or drove a wooden stake through her heart.

  “She did not die,” he said, as if reading my mind. “She is still alive, and in Norway.”

  “What happened?”

  “Our plight was trothed; the joining was scheduled. Then my parents both died during an outbreak of distemper. They caught the disease at our summer den, in Trondheim. My siblings and I were at my aunt’s home in the north at the time, and the disease did not reach us.”

  I drew in my breath. And I thought I had it bad because my father abandoned me. “Jesus. I’m so sorry.”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  “They died of distemper? I didn’t realize that was a big issue for werewolves. I mean, I thought you could only kill them with a silver bullet, or a wooden stake. Or ripping their throats out,” I said, remembering the unfortunate Charles.

  “Oh, yes. Distemper can be fatal, and before the vaccines, it was a real problem. It’s a terrible disease. Very painful.” As he spoke, I started to worry. I’d been hanging out with tons of strange werewolves, and although I’d gotten my MMR shots, I’d never asked my doctor to give me a distemper vaccination. Somehow it had just never come up during my routine (and nerve-racking—after all, I wasn’t entirely human) checkups. Would my human genes be enough to prevent me from catching it?

  I suddenly realized that Tom was still talking. “I’m sorry. The whole distemper thing kind of threw me off. Could you repeat that?” I asked.

  “I was saying that with my parents’ deaths, the issue of succession arose.”

  “Between you and your brother. Why wasn’t Astrid involved?”

  “She was already plighted to Wolfgang, and would reign as the alpha in Strasbourg.”

  “So it was up to you and Svend, and you stepped aside rather than kill him.”

  “Yes. But there were consequences to my actions. When I abdicated, Beate’s mother considered the betrothal null. She had only agreed to it with the understanding that I would reign as alpha. I was always larger and stronger, so the outcome was assumed.”

  “Why couldn’t the two of you run away together?”

  “We considered it. But where would we have gone?”

  “I don’t know. America? Everything seems to be a bit more loosey-goosey here.”

  He gave me a wry smile that tugged at my heart. “But Sophie, my dear, you forget. All of this happened a long time ago. The New World hadn’t been discovered yet,” he said.

  Hadn’t been discovered yet? Dear God. “Exactly how long ago are we talking, Tom?”

  “Just over six hundred years.”

  “Six hundred years,” I repeated, having a hard time believing he was telling me about an ill-fated love affair that had occurred more than half a millennium ago. I mean, I considered my first high school crush, which was only thirteen years ago, ancient h
istory. Granted, we’d never gotten engaged or anything, but Steve Barclay’s defection to a perky member of the cheerleading squad had been a pretty big deal at the time. We were talking six hundred years here. And Tom was still carrying a torch?

  “What happened to her?” I asked. “To Beate?”

  Tom’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “She joined with Svend, of course, as her mother told her to. They’ve been a happy family ever since. Lots of pups to fight for the right to succeed them.”

  I winced. “Ouch. I can see why you decided to leave home.”

  “I’m glad you understand,” he said wryly.

  “So where did you learn all these special skills of yours?” I asked, hoping to move to a less sensitive subject. “You know, the werewolf-unmaking and all that?”

  “Svend, Astrid, and I were all trained in the old ways by our Aunt Freya,” he said. “She was a very powerful werewolf; she could easily have taken the role of alpha if she’d wanted to. But she preferred to live alone in the woods, providing her services to the pack when required.”

  “And training the three of you,” I said.

  “She tried, yes. We spent several summers under her tutelage. But I was the only one who really had the talent.”

  “Kind of like my mom,” I said.

  “In what way?” he asked.

  “The magic. She’s got it.”

  “As do you,” Tom said.

  I snorted. “Hardly. The most magical thing I do is transforming a few times a year, and everybody does that.” Everybody who is a werewolf, anyway. “But I have another question. It seems like you and Wolfgang have been allies for a long time, even though you’re not from the same pack. Is it just because he was married to your sister?”

  “In Europe,” he said, “there are individual packs within each country, but they ally in larger groups. In the north, Scandinavia, Germany, and Switzerland are allied. There is another bloc in the Slavic countries, and in the south, Spain, France, and Italy tend to support each other.”

  Wow. I had no idea werewolf politics were so complicated. “So you were lending assistance not just as a brother-in-law, but as a political ally.”