Wolf's Choice

by Laura Taylor

  But more than just a general admiration for the way he was handling everything, Skip found that she was actually starting to like him. He had a quick wit, a genuine empathy for the plight of the shifters, and a refreshing lack of self pity. And then there was the way his eyes sparkled when he found something funny. His hands were strong, but artistic, unexpected for one who made his career as a soldier, and she was looking forward to seeing him again tonight… Skip felt a faint blush colour her cheeks as she suddenly realised the direction her wayward thoughts were travelling.

  The realisation that she was developing her first crush was both a terrifying idea, and a thrilling prospect. She’d never given the idea of a romantic partner much thought before, and for a long time, she’d been unable to imagine ever being able to find a man attractive. But Miller most certainly was. Smooth, dark skin, full lips, expressive mouth… And his wolf was a most unusual animal, Skip thought as she finished dressing, patient and watchful far beyond the normal standards for one so new to the world, and she took the time to wonder what that meant.

  A knock at her bedroom door pulled her out of her musings, and she quickly opened it, finding Dee on the other side. They’d become good friends since Dee had joined the Den, and had some catching up to do, firstly about Dee’s trip to Italy, but Skip also knew Dee would want to know more about her own recent adventures. Once the infection had been dealt with, Skip’s wolf had begun healing properly. She still had to take antibiotic tablets twice a day, and her stitches would remain in place for a while longer, but the pain of the surgery had faded to a mild discomfort and she was feeling a lot better when in her wolf form.

  But as Dee came into the room and took a seat on Skip’s bed, she opened the conversation with a far different topic from the one Skip had been expecting. “I can’t quite believe Baron didn’t decide to kill Miller,” she said without warning, and Skip was surprised enough that she found herself momentarily speechless. “After everything he did in Scotland, why are we even considering letting him stay?”

  Skip shrugged, trying not to look offended. She’d been the one to bring him here, after all, the one who had decided not to kill him right back when he’d crashed the car, and it was hard not to take the vehement denouncement of him personally. “He seems fairly sincere about having a change of heart,” she pointed out diplomatically. “Isn’t it worth giving him a chance?”

  Dee shrugged, looking mildly annoyed. “In the end, it’s Baron’s call. He makes enough life and death decisions for me to believe he has his reasons. But if it was left up to me? I’d have ended his life the moment he set foot on the estate.”

  The venom in Dee’s voice was startling, and Skip had to remind herself that Dee had been held captive in a Noturatii lab and tortured. How willing would Skip be to forgive, she thought darkly, if one of her father’s friends had strolled into the room and declared his sincere regret for his actions all those years ago? She would likely have as hard a time dealing with that as Dee was having dealing with Miller. But even so, it was a little surprising that Dee would opt for such a violent and deadly solution, when she was usually quite the pacifist.

  Not knowing what to say, Skip picked up a comb and turned to the mirror to tidy her hair. “Well, the Den’s going to end up voting him out anyway,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant about the whole thing, “so then the Council will be dealing with him, and it’s not our problem any more.” Finishing with her hair, she picked out a set of three plastic bracelets, in vivid blue, pink and green, and slid them onto her arm without thinking… and then paused, turning her attention back to the mirror.

  The reflection that stared back at her was the same one she had seen every day for years. Pink t-shirt – today’s choice had a kitten on the front. Baggy shorts. Short hair. Bright, childish jewellery. And Miller’s comment from the other night came back to her. ‘I think you’re nice to look at’, he’d said, and at the time, she’d taken the comment at face value.

  Skip stared critically at her reflection now, and felt her heart sink. He must have been just being nice, she realised in dismay. He was older than her, probably in his early thirties, and Skip knew well enough what men of that age found attractive. If they were like Simon, then they favoured women with a sharp fashion sense and a deft hand when it came to makeup. If they were like Tank, they were more into the down-to-earth type, women who were athletic and casual, but not sloppy. Or, if they were like Kwan, then looks weren’t so important, brains far more attractive than any kind of physical appearance.

  But none of the men she knew, or had ever known, would have found anything even remotely attractive about the way she looked now. She was twenty-four, rapidly heading for twenty-five, and she was still dressing like a teenager. Or maybe even a pre-teen, on some days. She looked ridiculous.

  Sitting on the bed, Dee fought back the automatic anger that sprang up whenever she thought of Miller. As far as she was concerned, it was like a Nazi officer suddenly deciding, once the war was over, that he was very sorry for hurting anyone, and please would everyone just forgive him. To do so ignored the immense suffering of his victims and the lingering scars left behind, whether from physical wounds, or the more intangible gaps left in people’s lives from the deaths of loved ones. As Dee saw it, some sort of justice was required beyond the simple declaration that Miller had changed his mind.

  But as she sat there, mulling over the strange goings on around the Den, she noticed that Skip seemed rather distracted. She didn’t seem particularly interested in talking about Miller… and now she was staring at herself in the mirror, running a nervous hand through her hair, fiddling with the hem of her t-shirt.

  “Hey, what’s up?” Dee asked, realising she was being insensitive. Skip had been through plenty of trauma lately, and Dee was just harping on about her own frustrations.

  “Nothing,” Skip said morosely.

  “Seriously, are you okay?” Dee pressed. She’d never seen the usually cheerful and bouncy girl so quiet.

  Skip stared at the mirror a moment longer. “I look stupid,” she declared without warning.

  Dee was startled by the blunt statement. “What? No, you don’t.”

  Skip gestured to the mirror. “Yes, I do. Look at me.”

  Dee came to stand beside her, a frown on her face. “Why do you think that?” she asked, baffled by Skip’s sudden angst.

  “My hair is too short.” She ran a hand self-consciously over the trimmed strands. “And I look… I just look weird.”

  Dee turned to face her. “What’s this about? You look fine. You’ve never worried about how you look before.” Okay, so when Dee had first met Skip, she’d thought her a little odd, with her unusual fashion sense and her fascination with teddy bears and childish jewellery. But over the months, she’d got used to the weirdness that routinely went on around the Den, and now she thought Skip’s choice of clothing was no more unusual than Caroline’s penchant for black leather, or Raniesha’s obsession with short skirts and high heels.

  But nonetheless, now that Skip had brought it to her attention, she had to admit that there was a stark contrast between Skip’s baggy clothing, two sizes too big so that every piece hung on her small frame, and Dee’s own clothes – currently consisting of stylish jeans and a shirt with a feminine cut, and she wondered if she had inadvertently done something to trigger this sudden discomfort. “You’re allowed to wear whatever clothes you like,” she said, trying to reassure her friend.

  Skip didn’t look convinced. She fiddled with the hem of her t-shirt again, then said, “But he…” She stopped herself. But that one slip was enough.

  “He? He, who?”

  “No one.”

  Dee’s eyes narrowed. “Has someone been giving you a hard time? Because Faeydir is more than happy to go beat the shit out of whoever it is, if they have.”

  Skip smiled despite her doubts. Dee’s wolf was earning quite the reputation as a vicious fighter, and she’d already climbed far higher in the ranks than an
yone had expected. The only reason she hadn’t climbed further was because she was still so new here, and there was a certain pressure to avoid letting her have too much influence until she knew their culture better.

  But the smile didn’t last long. “No one’s been giving me a hard time.”

  “Then ‘he’ who? And what has ‘he’ been doing?”

  Skip shrugged. “Nothing. I just…”

  Another idea suddenly occurred to Dee. “Wait a minute… do you have an admirer? Is that what this is about?” Since she’d joined the Den, she’d never seen Skip show even the slightest interest in a man. Which didn’t mean anything in particular. A lot of the Den’s members seemed to have no real interest in a romantic relationship. But maybe…?

  “No,” Skip said, sounding even more morose. “Not really.” There was a long moment of silence, and then… “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “I can’t ask the others, because they all… They were here when I got here, so they know… but you don’t know, cos you’re new here, and I want… I want to know what you really think, without you knowing, because they’ll all say… well, I already know what they’ll say.”

  Dee didn’t know what? It was a well known fact that everyone here had issues from their various pasts, but she’d assumed that whatever Skip’s problems were, they were none of Dee’s business. But the girl was clearly upset. “You can ask me anything.”

  “And I want an honest answer,” Skip insisted. “And don’t worry later that you’ve said something wrong, cos I’m asking you specifically because you don’t know. Okay?”

  That sounded bad, and Dee was suddenly cautious. “Okay,” she agreed hesitantly. She was going to have to watch what she said. Which was difficult to do when she didn’t know what she was watching for.

  “Do you think that… maybe… a guy would… do you think he would think I was nice to look at?”

  So there was someone she was interested in. And as Dee’s mind automatically raced through the list of shifters on the estate, she came to the most obvious conclusion. “Is it Kwan?”

  “What? No!” Skip said, blushing. “Kwan’s just a friend.”

  Dee’s next thought was that perhaps it was Aaron, but she dismissed the idea almost immediately. Aaron had shown even less interest in women than Skip had shown in men. “Is it someone you met in Scotland?”

  “No. Sort of. Maybe… No, not really.” Skip was babbling, but then she cut herself off quickly. “I just want to know if you think a guy could think that.”

  “I think it’s perfectly possible,” Dee answered, after considering the question for a moment. “There’s a lot of different kinds of people in the world, and there’s no reason one of them shouldn’t be interested in you.”

  “But what if he’s just being polite?”

  “Well that’s better than being rude, isn’t it?” Dee said with wry amusement. But Skip didn’t seem amused. “Look… if you’re interested in someone, whether or not he’s interested in you too, friendship is still a good place to start, right? So just try talking to him without putting too much pressure on either of you. Or if it’s a long distance thing, call him on the phone. Or send him an email. Talk about something you have in common. Just start with something simple, and see if he seems interested in return.” In all honesty, that was about the extent of Dee’s relationship advice. Before meeting Mark, she’d been rather hopeless at the dating game herself, shyness and insecurities causing her to skirt around her feelings for ages before she’d ever worked up the courage to approach a man, and she wasn’t sure what she was going to say if Skip asked for more advice.

  But instead, she seemed to suddenly brighten. “Yeah. I can do that,” she said, sounding more confident. “We have lots of things we can talk about.”

  Dee smiled, glad she’d been of some help, at least. “Great. Then let’s get down to dinner. We’ve got a very interesting evening ahead of us.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  A tense silence hovered over the entire Den as they loitered on the back patio, waiting for Baron to announce the vote on Miller’s future. Dinner had been completed – a break with tradition, as the Welcoming Ceremony usually included a feast after the rituals, but on this occasion, since everyone was expecting the vote to be a no, Baron had foregone the effort of preparing one. Miller was standing in the centre of the patio, having just completed the required oath of loyalty to Il Trosa, a sacred vow in which he’d sworn to honour this Den, the Council and the whole of Il Trosa, and acknowledged that any betrayal of that vow constituted a forfeiture of his own life.

  Baron had explained the vow in detail earlier that afternoon, and Miller had asked plenty of questions about it, but in the end, he’d agreed to comply. Which was just as well. If he’d refused, then Baron would have had no choice but to put him down. The Council took the ritual extremely seriously, and if Miller had refused to swear his allegiance to them, he would be seen as a traitor to their species, irrespective of his intentions to leave the Noturatii.

  Silas and Andre had brought him up from the cage room half an hour ago, and the Den had reacted with trepidation and several vocal protests when they’d seen that he wasn’t restrained in any way. But given the ceremony they were about to complete, there had been little other option. Despite any reservations they held about the man, this ceremony was an official invitation to join Il Trosa, and the final declaration that neither Baron nor Caroline considered Miller to be a serious threat to their safety. As such, collaring Miller would firstly have been hugely disrespectful, both to him, and to the traditions of Il Trosa, but secondly, if they were serious about accepting Miller – whether it was in this Den or another one – then they would have to start allowing him the chance to prove himself. And keeping him caged or chained twenty-four hours a day was hardly going to give him that opportunity.

  However, despite the apparent display of trust in the man, all of the more senior wolves were armed – Baron wasn’t so stupid as to leave himself with no plan B, should Miller actually attempt to escape. And Andre had been briefed on the potential need to track him. As a recently retired assassin, he was by far the most skilled and lethal warrior on the estate and he was now watching Miller with the focused attention of a hawk tracking a rabbit.

  “You all know why we’re here,” Baron addressed the group, when everyone was ready. “You’ve been given twenty-four hours to think about this vote, and I’m sure you’ve all had some interesting discussions on the topic. According to usual protocol, I’d be required to ask you whether anyone knew of any reason why Miller should not be allowed to join us. But given the circumstances, let me answer that for you. He’s from the Noturatii, he’s been responsible for the deaths of at least two of our comrades, possibly more, he recently tried to kidnap Skip and he kidnapped Tank at the beginning of the year. But in his favour,” he went on, “he helped Skip escape from that same kidnapping attempt, he donated blood to her after her surgery, he’s given us valuable intel on the Noturatii, and against all odds, he’s successfully merged with his wolf. Does anyone have anything of significance to add to the list? I realise there are probably a thousand minor crimes he’s committed against us, but let’s keep this to the big picture issues, shall we?”

  “I have a question,” Simon spoke up. “I’d like to hear from Miller himself where his loyalties lie. And I, along with a number of other people, would like to assess his answer while in wolf form.” Wolves were far more adept at detecting lies, and Baron considered it to be a reasonable request.

  “Granted,” he answered easily. “Those who would like to shift, please do so.”

  Half a dozen people shifted, and then Baron turned to Miller. “Please tell us, in your own words, your current views on the Noturatii and the shape shifters.”

  Miller answered without protest. “I have cut all ties to my life with the Noturatii, and I have no intention of ever going back to work for them. I consider their activities to be m
orally reprehensible and I deeply regret the time I spent helping them. I never intended to join the shape shifters, but since coming here, I’ve seen that you’re decent, honest and compassionate people, and given my accidental conversion into a shifter, I would consider it an honour to be allowed to stay with you.” There was a pause, as the wolves watched him carefully, weighing up every word, his tone of voice, his body language.

  “Do you have any intention of revealing any information about the shifters to the Noturatii?” Baron asked pointedly, wanting to cover all his bases.

  “No,” Miller replied. “You’ve done me a significant kindness in the way you’ve treated me, and I have no desire to stab you in the back for it.”

  “And do you have any intention of trying to leave Il Trosa, now or at any point in the future?”

  “No, I do not.”

  “You have your answer,” Baron said to the waiting shifters. “Make of it what you will. Are there any other questions?” There were no further comments, so once the last of the shifters had resumed their human form, he announced the vote. “The affirmative vote will be cast to my left, the negative vote to my right. Proceed.”

  Baron immediately stepped to the left, while Caroline stepped to the right. While she had decided not to exercise her right of veto, as that would have resulted in Miller’s death, she’d made the point earlier that she was far from happy about him joining this particular Den.

  Baron’s reasons for voting in Miller’s favour were a little more complicated. While he was loathe to impose his will on the Den, he also knew that if anything went wrong in the future, Baron himself would be largely to blame for it, and he was inclined to keep Miller close by, so as to be on hand to take corrective action, should he prove to be untrustworthy.