Leader Of The Pack

by Karen McInerney

  “See what you can find out tonight, and in the meantime, I’ll look for loopholes in the code.”

  I reached out and touched his arm; to my relief, he didn’t recoil. “Thank you for your help.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said stiffly. “But once this is over, you have a lot more explaining to do.”

  I shut the door after them a moment later and leaned against it, feeling utterly drained. I was glad to have Heath’s help—and relieved, in a way, that my big fat hairy secret was finally out in the open. But it was unsettling how quickly my secret was slipping away from me.

  I left the office at three thirty, which was a tad early, but still barely enough time to redo my dye job in preparation for the evening’s festivities. If you could call them that. While I was headed to the Howl, Lindsey and Heath were planning to spend the evening together with the Codex, in hope of finding a technicality that would help my father’s case. The two of them had been closeted with it—and each other—all afternoon. I just prayed that tonight’s little foray would result in some information they could use in my father’s defense. Provided, of course, he hadn’t pissed someone off so much with his Garou superiority complex that they’d already dispatched him.

  Hope springs eternal, I guess.

  Sally had shot me yet another nasty look as I shouldered my briefcase and hustled past her. As I waited for the elevator, hoping Adele wouldn’t pick that moment to round the corner, I thanked my lucky stars that I had (a) made partner and (b) was … well, to be quite frank, sleeping with my client. Because my work product over the last week had been less than stellar.

  On the not-so-bright side, however, relations with my star client weren’t exactly at their zenith right now. Mark usually took every one of my calls, but I hadn’t made it past his assistant that morning. And when he’d finally called me back late in the afternoon, I’d had to endure another cross-examination—only this time, the subject was Tom.

  “So, are you going out with him again tonight?” he’d asked.

  “I’m not ‘going out’ with him,” I said. “He’s helping me do reconnaissance work, so I can prevent my father’s execution.”

  “I still don’t see why you’re going to all of this trouble. I’ve told you I could get him out of there in a heartbeat.”

  “Yes, I know. And it’s lovely of you to offer,” I repeated for what felt like the millionth time. “But I’d like to see if I can do it legally, so there aren’t any long-term repercussions.” Like angry packs of werewolves pounding down my door, inviting me to take my father’s place on a sharpened stake.

  “So, you and the dashing Tom will be back at the Howl again tonight.”

  “Yup. That’s the plan.”

  “When will you be home?”

  What was he, my mother? “I don’t know.”

  “Call me when you get in,” he said, and the ring on my finger heated up, just a little bit.

  “I will… Ash.” On impulse, I used the name he’d given me the other night. Even with miles of distance between us, I could feel him respond.

  “I’ll wait for your call,” he said in a voice that thrummed with desire, and as I hung up, I felt an answering twinge deep inside.

  Now, though, I had to face yet another evening of werewolves. Whatever happened, I told myself, it was only two more days. If I could just make it to the end of the week and get my father off the hook, everything would be fine. Or, if not fine, at least over.

  I had just finished blow-drying my poor, abused, re-blackened hair when there was a knock at the door. I knew before I opened it that it was Tom.

  His musky, wild scent filled the room as I opened the door, making me just a little bit weak in the knees. Speaking of knees, his no longer seemed swathed in gauze. “How’s your leg?” I asked, glancing down at his jeans. From what I could tell, there was no bandage under the denim at all—just a long expanse of muscular thigh. Mmmm.

  “Almost healed,” he said, stepping into my loft.

  “How come I don’t heal that fast?” I asked.

  “You’re not as old as I am,” he said. “Give it time.”

  “How old are you?”

  He grinned. “Older than you.” He eyed my hair. “That’s not a good color for you, you know. I much prefer it auburn.”

  “You and my father agree on something, at least.” I touched my hair self-consciously. “I know it’s awful. I’m hoping this is the last time I’ll have to use it.”

  “I like the outfit, though,” he said, his eyes roving from my form-fitting jeans to the rather plunging neckline of my Banana Republic wrap top. “And I definitely approve of the top. Though I must confess that I do miss the skirt.”

  “Should I wear something different?” I asked, trying to ignore the heat in my cheeks. “I mean, what’s the protocol tonight?” I’d made the mistake of not asking once; I wasn’t going to do it a second time.

  “Jeans are fine,” he said. “Dinner will be barbecue tonight, so you’ll be right in line.”

  “What else is on tap for the evening?” I asked.

  “Tonight is the assembly,” he said. “The packs will gather under their banners. Wolfgang will announce his intention to mate with Elena, and they’ll do any other pack business that needs to be attended to before the full-moon ceremony tomorrow.” He touched my hand. “Your dad will be there, too.

  “What? Why?”

  He took a deep breath. “Sophie, you have to prepare yourself. At the assembly, they’ll officially indict him.”

  I closed my eyes and swallowed, overcome with emotion. When I was able to speak again, I croaked, “And jeans are appropriate for an indictment?”

  “Trust me, you’ll be right in line with everyone else,” Tom said. Tears sprang to my eyes, which was a big problem, because I was wearing several ounces of eyeliner. I reached up to wipe them away.

  Tom’s voice was low and reassuring. “Don’t worry about your dad, Sophie. They won’t do anything but set the trial.” He paused for a moment, and his voice took on a teasing tone. “Besides, you’re supposed to be an unsophisticated werewolf from a small town. You’re not supposed to look put together.”

  I barked out something like a laugh, lifted my chin, and gave myself a good shake. This was not the time to fall apart. “Anything special I need to do tonight? Other than grovel and act mortified?”

  “Poor Sophie,” he said, reaching out to touch my hair. “Hopefully, your Swedish alter ego will soon be a thing of the past.”

  “No kidding,” I said, taking a shaky breath. Best to get this over with. “Let me just get my jacket and we’ll go.”

  Ten minutes later, Tom’s muscular body was wedged between my thighs. Of course, it was because we were on the back of his motorcycle, but it was still a very pleasurable experience. I scootched a little closer to Tom and wrapped my arms tighter around him, trying to blot my worries out of my mind. We were close enough that I could feel his heart beat under the leather of his jacket as the rolling Texas hill country unfurled before us, the bluebonnets and Indian paintbrush mirroring the purple-orange hues of the sunset flooding the sky.

  All too soon, we were back at the Graf ranch, bumping down the caliche road and into the crowded parking area. Several torches lit the area around where the bonfire had been a few nights earlier, and a dozen picnic tables laden with food dotted the field. I sniffed the air, and my salivary glands kicked into action. Brisket, ribs, and sausage, unless I was mistaken, along with several bottles of Shiner Bock. And, of course, werewolves. Lots of them.

  Tom was right; casual was the word for werewolves tonight. In fact, the preponderance of khakis and jeans made the gathering look like a bunch of professionals getting together for an al fresco happy hour on casual Friday. Only by the strong animal aroma—and the legions of shimmery eyes—could I tell it was otherwise.

  I leaned forward, putting my lips close to Tom’s ear. “So is this where the assembly happens?” I asked.

  “No,” he said.
“The assembly will occur in the clearing where the hunt started.”

  He pulled in next to a black Mercedes, and I climbed off the motorcycle and attempted to fix my hair. “This whole werewolf thing isn’t exactly what I was expecting,” I said.

  Tom unzipped his leather jacket; beneath it, he wore a black T-shirt that stretched tight across his muscular chest. “No? Why not?”

  “It’s too … I don’t know.” I surveyed the casually dressed crowd, groping for the right word. “Normal?”

  He chuckled, a deep, growly sound that made me shiver inside. “It hasn’t begun yet, my dear.” Something about the way he said it made the hairs stand up on my arms. I rubbed them, feeling a shiver pass through me, then shuddered as I caught a glimpse of myself in the tinted window of a Mercedes.

  “Dear God.”

  “What?”

  “I look like the bride of Frankenstein,” I said, and made him stop while I did my best to tame it. Once I’d done what I could to tame it, Tom took my arm and walked toward the field, where the werewolves were grouped in bunches, digging into the brisket and talking in low voices. I could sense the tension in the air as Tom greeted several of them with a pleasant, slightly toothy smile. I kept my head down and moved a little closer to Tom, who put a protective, musk-and-leather-scented arm around me.

  Although none of them actually bared their teeth and threatened to rip my throat out for my bad manners—for the first time, I found myself thankful we were in the “proscribed time”—the hostile looks sure didn’t bode well for me sniffing out more information. I soon found myself wondering if it might not have been wise to choose a different dye color—and yet another identity. After all, with Tom’s apparent Don Juan reputation, chances were excellent no one would have turned a hair.

  As we rounded another clump of werewolves, I glanced almost involuntarily toward the garden cottage, where I hoped my father was still imprisoned. I was heartened to see burly werewolves flanking the door. Although another family gathering was probably out of the question, the presence of the guards meant Luc must still be alive and kicking. And doubtless offending everyone within hearing range.

  We had almost reached the meat-laden tables when I realized that the mug of wolfsbane tea I’d downed before leaving had made its way to my bladder. I also needed a break from the sea of golden eyes that was focused on me with more than a bit of hostility. “Is it okay if I just run into one of the houses and use the bathroom?” I asked Tom.

  “Sure,” he said. “They should all be open.”

  I was about to ask him if there were any I should avoid when a trio of burly werewolves walked up. “Hey, Tom. Heard your little honey got herself into trouble,” the largest one said, shooting me a scornful look.

  “She’s in touch with her animal impulses,” he said, grinning salaciously. “That’s what I like about her.”

  “Not just on the hunt, eh?”

  He squeezed me tight, and I looked up to see desire in his golden eyes. I felt a response stir deep inside me; if he was acting, he deserved an Oscar.

  “I can’t complain,” he said in a low growl that set my body on fire. His buddies looked me over again in a way that was distinctly, well, carnal. Cheeks burning, I excused myself and hurried over the shorn grass toward the nearest farmhouse, anxious to escape the werewolves’ staring eyes.

  Unfortunately, the inside of the house was hardly a respite, because evidently the farmhouse I had chosen was occupied by Elena. Her scent, and the synthetic-textile aroma of her guards, just about bowled me over when I opened the door and stepped inside.

  I had assumed Elena was bunking with Wolfgang, but that didn’t appear to be the case. Maybe they were waiting for her alpha status to be made official before taking up residence together. Or maybe I’d been wrong about the whole alpha-alpha relationship thing. I mean, just because they were both alphas didn’t mean they were, well, sleeping together. Did it?

  The sound of a familiar, gravelly voice jerked me out of my speculation. “What do you think’s gonna happen tonight?”

  It was one of the pleather boys. The sound of his voice made my heart start pounding in my chest—and not in a good way. I debated closing the door and walking right back outside, but then I remembered I was here to gather information. Besides, I really did need to pee.

  So I thought every protective thought I could and crept toward the bathroom, which I’d spotted down a little hallway to the left. The floorboards creaked beneath my feet as I tiptoed over to it, but evidently the pleather boys weren’t paying very good attention, because they didn’t seem to notice. I eased the door shut behind me and pressed my ear against the wood, trying to ignore the urgent distress signals from my bladder.

  “I don’t know.” I recognized the second voice, too: Elena’s other guard. Their voices were growing louder; they must be moving in my direction. “It’s a sticky situation. He’s got to come up with some way to avoid the alliance.”

  “Can’t he find some way around it?”

  “Not without causing trouble. If he agrees to it in front of the assembly, it’ll be tough to renege later.”

  “Even if he does have to go through with it, is he still going to back us?”

  “That’s the agreement,” said the second voice. “Otherwise, no Beaumont.”

  I clenched my legs together—God, I needed to pee—and pressed my ear to the bathroom door. Who wanted to avoid an alliance? How did Beaumont enter into this? And was Beaumont a person, or the town in east Texas? And—most important—did this have any bearing on my father’s impending trial? “It was touch and go the other day, with Wolfgang,” the gravelly voice continued. “Put Miss Elena in a tight spot when he saw the Grenier guy leaving her hotel room.”

  My pulse picked up another notch. The Grenier guy? Did they mean Charles?

  “It’s a good thing Garou turned up. Do you think he’s the one who got rid of him?”

  “I don’t know, but it works out fine for us. Hard for him to answer any questions now. And Miss Elena’s got Wolfgang calmed down.”

  “I’m still worried about good old Wolfi. Miss Elena says he’s fine, she’s got him under control. But he’s not stupid.”

  “Think that’s why Miss Elena isn’t at the big house?”

  “After the ceremony she will be. He’s just waiting for it to be official. You know the Germans—alles in Ordnung.”

  “Yeah, and Wolfgang’s gonna be real happy to get that Garou guy back in Ordnung. I just hope the Frenchies don’t get pissy about their alpha winding up with a stake in him.”

  “Not our problem,” he said. “Besides, if he broke the code, what can they do?”

  There was another set of footsteps—lighter, but firm—and a woman’s voice cut through. “Is there a problem?”

  I drew in my breath. Elena.

  “No, ma’am.”

  “What were you discussing?” she asked.

  “Just talking about the trial.”

  “Garou is guilty,” she said shortly. “There’s nothing to discuss.”

  “Of course not, ma’am.”

  “Good.” There was silence for a moment, then she spoke again. “Is someone else here?”

  “Just us,” said the gravelly voiced pleather boy.

  “No,” she said, and I could hear her sniffing. “There’s someone else.” Her footsteps came closer. I scuttled toward the toilet, jerked down my jeans, and was in the process of relieving my overfilled bladder when the door burst open.

  Elena stared at me for a moment, surprise in her golden eyes, then shut the door in a hurry. I congratulated myself on my quick action; I’d figured if she caught me with my pants down, it would help deflect suspicion.

  It was a nice thought, anyway.

  Once I’d finished my business, I washed my hands, using a bit of water to flatten down my hair, and steeled myself for another encounter. Three pairs of eyes bored into me when I stepped out of the bathroom a moment later. Elena stood with her arms crossed
, radiating disapproval.

  “It’s the hick Inga from Minnesota,” she said, her voice icy. Even though everyone else was dressed in jeans—except Boris and Dudley, who were sporting their signature pleather pants—she was all business in a beautifully cut black suit. “What the hell are you doing in my den?”

  It looked more like a house than a den to me—I mean, for starters, it had actual working plumbing, not to mention an antique pitcher collection on the mantel—but I didn’t bother to argue. “Um … someone told me there was a bathroom in here. Sorry to intrude.”

  “You’re the yokel who took down the buck the other night. And was hanging around the garden cottage. Did you break the window?”

  “What window?” I asked, trying to look puzzled.

  She sniffed. “You smell different.”

  I shrugged. “I just came in here to go to the bathroom. I didn’t know it was a private house. I’ll get out of your hair now,” I said, and started inching toward the door.

  “She’s here with Fenris again,” said the burlier of the two—Boris, I think—and Elena stepped in front of me, blocking my way. Despite the fear of imminent discovery, my eyes were drawn involuntarily to the shiny fabric stretched across his bottom half. Kayla really thought he was hot ? I tore my eyes away and found myself staring right into Elena’s golden eyes.

  “I remember when you had the buck in your mouth,” she said, staring at me like I was a bug she was about to crush. “You had a strong aroma last time—like maple, I believe—but now I don’t smell it.” Shit. I’d sprayed on Euphoria, but I’d forgotten the fenugreek.

  She sniffed again. “I knew you were here because of your perfume. But there’s something familiar about you.” Her eyes bored into me. “Why are you in my house?”

  I looked down at the floor, avoiding her eyes. “Like I said. I just needed to go to the bathroom. I’ll leave now. Sorry.” Any moment now, Elena was going to figure out exactly who I was. I was surprised she hadn’t pegged it already. From what everyone had told me, werewolves who were light in the scent department weren’t particularly common. “Can I go back outside?”