by Eileen Wilks
Harry ignored her.
“And wolves do fight over females. But lupi aren’t exactly wolves, are they? They have rules about fighting, ritualizing it, Grandmother says—though it’s not supposed to happen over a woman.”
Harry polished off the last drop and began cleaning his face. Lily rubbed her hip absently. Something was nagging at her, some sense that things didn’t add up. “Either Turner killed him in a jealous rage, or . . . what?”
She pushed away from the refrigerator and started pacing. It didn’t take many steps to be back in her living room. “Unless Turner is besotted or wildly territorial about Rachel, he didn’t have a reason to kill Fuentes. Maybe he did it. But if not . . . if not, what’s the motive?”
Lily stopped by the window, scowling at the closed drapes. Who benefited by Fuentes’s death? That was always a good question. Half the time, the answer involved money. Maybe not this time, though. There was a small insurance policy through his job, according to Rachel, but it wouldn’t do much more than get him buried.
Passion? He’d played around, again according to Rachel. But it hadn’t been an angry husband or boyfriend who’d killed him. It had been a wolf.
Well, what was the most obvious result of his death?
“Me,” Lily said slowly. “Investigating his murder.” And focusing on Turner because he’d been involved with Rachel, and he was a lupus. And the one thing they were sure of was that Fuentes had been killed by a lupus.
Wait a minute. Maybe the question really was, why had Fuentes been killed by a wolf? Not just by a lupus. A lupus who’d Changed. A lupus who might as well have left her a note telling her one of his kind had done this.
The lupi were most deadly when they were furry, but they were fast and scary-strong in human form, too. He could have killed Fuentes without Changing.
Harry stopped against her leg once, purring. “You’re right,” Lily said. “It’s late. I’d better get to bed.” But as she went through her bedtime routine, one question kept circling around in her head.
Why had Fuentes’s killer Changed?
SEVEN
A scrappy little road wound up into the mountains northeast of the city. About twenty miles up that road some forgotten county planner had stationed a scenic overlook boasting a cement picnic table and a metal trash drum. At eleven o’clock Rule was waiting there, leaning against his car with his arms crossed and his nose lifted.
The sun was a glaring disk in an empty sky, but there was wind—a sharp, dusty wind smelling of sage and creosote and rabbit. Before him the folded earth descended in irregular humps to the city, satisfyingly distant. A mile up the road, hidden by scruffy oaks and the curve of the little road, lay the entrance to Nokolai lands.
Rule closed his eyes and wished for time. He needed to be in two places at once right now—and neither was where he wanted to be. He’d been trying to reach Cullen all morning. He needed to find him, or at least find out if his friend had pulled one of his disappearing acts. Every so often Cullen dropped out of sight, telling no one where he was going or when he’d be back. It was annoying at the best of times.
This was not the best of times.
Rule held himself in quietness, trying to settle. It had been too long since he’d run these hills in his other form. Too long since he’d even walked them in this one. He needed to absorb and be absorbed by the land, and there was no time . . . yet he was here now.
He looked upwind, searching out the source of the rabbit scent, and found it beneath a scrubby bush, where a dun-colored patch of fur quivered, barely distinguishable from the dirt. Rule watched, motionless himself, and breathed deeply. It helped.
Her face floated across the surface of his mind . . . a heart-shaped face with a strong, straight nose and eyes like black almonds. When she smiled, her mouth made a pretty triangle, and her cheeks rounded. He thought of her skin—thick cream, with honey stirred in. And her scent. A touch spicy. Wholly human. Unique.
The memory aroused him, turned him restless. He wanted to see her now, not two hours from now.
And that, he thought, was not a good sign. Not good at all.
A few minutes later, tires crunched on gravel. The rabbit bolted from its hiding spot. Rule turned to watch a dirty gray Jeep pull up behind his convertible. Two men got out instead of the single man he’d been expecting. Both wore jeans and athletic shoes. Both were bare from the waist up. One—the Jeep’s driver—had three long scars across his chest, remnants of the attack two days ago.
He was a big man, with the build of a fullback and a basketball player’s hands. Unusually dark for a lupus, he had his mother’s coppery skin. His silver-shot hair was black and very short. The leather sheath on his back held a machete; the one at his waist was for his knife. The blades of both would be sharp, Rule knew, in spite of the softness of the metal. There was too much silver in the alloy for it to hold an edge well.
The Jeep’s passenger was built like the blade the first man carried—long and slim, with broad, bony shoulders standing in for the hilt. His face was narrow, his skin and eyes pale, and his light brown hair was long enough to tie back. Most people would have guessed him to be about Rule’s age.
They would have been right. But then, most people didn’t know Rule’s real age. “Mick.” Rule straightened, a familiar wariness stealing the bit of ease he’d snatched. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“Drove down,” the slighter of the two men said as he approached. “The vineyard can toddle along without me for a few days. Toby sends his love,” he added. “Along with a request for Sweet Tarts or anything else to rot his teeth. You know how Nettie is about a healthy diet.”
Rule’s heart jumped. “You saw him?”
“For a few minutes, before the slave drivers carted him off to his lessons. You’re overreacting there,” Mick commented. “No need to yank the boy clear across the country. No lupus would harm a child.”
Rule just shook his head. Mick didn’t know about Cullen or what he’d discovered. For now, that’s how Rule wanted it. He held out his hand, and the two of them clasped forearms in formal greeting—then Mick grinned and pounded Rule’s back hard enough to have staggered a human.
It wasn’t the mock-friendly blow that had Rule pulling back, his lip lifting in a snarl, knees flexed, and arms ready at his sides. It was the scent.
The big man gripped Mick’s shoulder. His voice was cavern-deep. “Cry pax.”
“For the Lady’s sake, I just slapped him on the back!”
Benedict snorted. “You stink of so much seru even a human would react. I’ve no time to waste on this foolishness. Cry pax.”
Mick looked sullen, but he muttered the word. Rule eased his stance, but it would take a while for the chemicals flooding his body to disperse. The stink of his brother’s hostility hung heavy in the air.
“And you,” Benedict told him, “had better learn control. The Lu Nuncio can’t afford to react like a challenge-crazed adolescent.”
Rule’s lips tightened. He didn’t react that way anymore—except with Mick. The two of them had always been competitive. Mick had envied Rule for living at Clanhome. When they were children, Rule had envied Mick for having a mother who wanted him. But the relationship hadn’t turned bitter until Isen named his youngest son his heir. “I know. I’m on edge.”
“All the more need for control.” Benedict released Mick’s shoulder. “We need to get straight to business. I don’t want to be away from the Rho for long.”
“Your choice,” Rule said. “We could have met closer to him.” Why had Benedict brought Mick to their meeting? He must know there were things Rule couldn’t discuss with anyone else present.
“I argued with him about that, believe it or not,” Mick said, rubbing his shoulder. “Not that it did any good. But I don’t see any reason to ban you from Clanhome.”
Benedict favored him with one of those expressionless looks that used to make Rule squirm, back when Benedict was training him. “You’re very tend
er about your brother’s rights.”
“I suppose you expected me to rejoice that he’s banned.” One side of Mick’s mouth tucked down. He looked away. “I’ve got a problem with my little brother being Lu Nuncio. You know it, he knows it, everyone knows it. Maybe that makes me all the more angry when someone else shows disrespect.”
“The ban is customary. Wait.” He slashed a hand through the air, cutting Mick off. “I’m aware that custom bars him from the Rho’s presence, not Clanhome. But Isen agreed with my decision.”
Mick looked shocked. Rule wasn’t. He’d guessed as much. Isen hadn’t been asleep or in Sleep the whole time. He could have countermanded Benedict’s orders . . . if he’d wanted to.
“Rule,” Mick said, “I—I don’t know what to say. Our father can’t suspect you.”
Rule shrugged, ignoring the ugly tangle in his gut as best he could. “Isen always has reasons for what he does.”
“If it makes you feel any better,” Mick said, “I’m not allowed to see him yet, either.” He gave Benedict a sour look.
Benedict was unmoved. “I let you tag along so I wouldn’t have to say everything twice. So listen.”
Anger flashed in Mick’s eyes. “So speak.”
“It looks as if Nokolai has a traitor. That’s the main reason Rule is banned from Clanhome while our father heals.”
Rule felt sick. “The attack. They didn’t know you planned to meet Isen on his return, but they knew you hadn’t accompanied him.”
“Wait a minute,” Mick said. “First, Benedict is good, but his mere presence doesn’t magically ward off attack.”
“There were five of them,” Rule said. “Would you be willing to go against Benedict and our father with only four at your back?”
“Okay, you have a point. But we know who did it. Leidolf. Three of the attackers were definitely theirs. The two who got away probably were, too.”
“Clan Leidolf has been contacted,” Benedict said. “The Council issued a formal complaint and demand. Their Rho disavowed the attackers.”
“The Council?” Rule frowned. “If the complaint didn’t come from Isen, they’ll know he’s badly injured.”
“That’s how he wanted it.”
Rule chewed that over. Apparently Isen wanted to present the appearance of weakness—make it seem he didn’t trust his heir, let their enemies know he was badly hurt. But what did that gain them when the pretense was at least half true? He looked at Benedict, worried, and got back the smallest of shrugs.
So Benedict didn’t know what their father was up to, either. “I don’t suppose Leidolf offered reparation.”
“No, though they must realize they’ll have to, eventually. For now the Council is willing to let them drag things out. Both sides are growling. No one is challenging.”
Rule nodded. Leidolf and Nokolai were enemies from way back but had managed to avoid Clan Challenge for the better part of the last sixty years.
War was too wasteful; Isen preferred more devious means to his ends. Leidolf, being more numerous, might think the all-or-nothing justice of war favored them, but Nokolai had too many friends. They wouldn’t fight alone. Even Leidolf could see what a disaster a widespread conflict would be.
“The point is,” Benedict said, “the attack was timed too well. Very few knew about the meeting between Nokolai and Kyffin. On our side, just the three of us and the Council. I told no one other than the guard I sent with Isen, and he’s dead.”
“Leidolf is notoriously sloppy about their word,” Rule said, “so it’s conceivable they’d kill their tool to keep him from talking—”
“Rule,” Mick said, shocked. “You’re talking about Frederick.”
Rule shook his head. “I know. Instinct rebels at the idea, but I’d still like Benedict’s opinion. He was there.”
“Frederick died defending his Rho,” Benedict said flatly. “There is no room for doubt. Did you mention the meeting to anyone, Mick?”
“Of course not.”
“Rule?”
One person outside the clan had learned about the meeting, though not from Rule. Cullen. Rule phrased his answer carefully. “I spoke to no one about it before it took place.”
“I’ve spoken with the Councilors,” Benedict said. “None of them admits to having told anyone.”
Mick snorted. “Which proves nothing, since you won’t let Rule into Clanhome to put the question to them.”
Rule lifted his brows. “You’d have me put the question to Council members? Without the Rho’s orders?”
Mick grimaced. “All right, all right. I wasn’t thinking. But we’re getting sidetracked. Even if the Councilors kept their mouths shut, there were two clans at that meeting. What about Kyffin?”
“Jasper’s a hothead,” Rule said, “but an honest one.”
“I’m not accusing their Rho of anything except talking to the wrong person.”
Benedict shook his head. “Jasper kept the meeting even more secret than we did. He says only he and his Lu Nuncio knew about it in advance—and he is willing to back his word. He has agreed to submit to Nokolai in formal ceremony.”
“Merde!” Rule exclaimed. He shook his head in rueful admiration. “Isen manages to land on his feet even when they’ve been bitten off. This isn’t the way he’d planned to obtain Kyffin’s support, but I’ll wager he’ll be pleased. Restrictions?”
“Nothing unusual. Year-and-a-day term.”
“You’ll have to let Rule into Clanhome, then,” Mick said. “Unless you plan to keep Jasper kicking his heels until our father is well enough to participate.”
“The Lu Nuncio must accept for Nokolai, of course. Jasper arrived an hour ago with seven from Kyffin plus two from other clans to bear witness. The ceremony is set for two o’clock. Rule will return to Clanhome with us.”
“Now?” Rule said, startled. “Was there some reason you needed to arrange this without contacting me?”
“You’ve a peculiar idea of my authority. I didn’t arrange it. The Council did.”
Of course. Rule felt foolish. Had his desire to see Lily addled his thinking? He’d have to call her, postpone their date. Not that she was thinking of it as a date. . . . “It’s lousy timing, but I suppose that can’t be helped.”
“You had something more important to do than accept Kyffin’s submission to Nokolai?”
“If I were sure it was more important, I’d ask the Council to reschedule,” he snapped. “But I am trying to avoid being arrested for murder. Aside from my own feelings on the matter, California is a death penalty state. It wouldn’t be good for the clan for the heir to be executed.”
A flicker of emotion disturbed Benedict’s face. “Who did you kill?”
“No one lately. Bloody hell. You don’t know, do you? Does no one at Clanhome ever listen to the news?”
“We’ve been a little preoccupied,” Benedict said dryly.
Rule ran a hand through his hair. His question had been largely rhetorical. Many of those lucky enough to live at Clanhome did shut out the human world. The Council couldn’t afford to, but, as Benedict said, they’d had other things on their minds. “It looks like I’ve been set up,” he said, and hit the high points.
“So they’re after you, too.” Mick scowled. “They want to destroy Nokolai. And we know why, don’t we? Isen’s damned political maneuvering! Why can’t he see that meddling in human politics never pays off for us?”
Rule said nothing. As Lu Nuncio, he wasn’t allowed the luxury of opinions.
Benedict didn’t comment either, but that was typical. He would have made a perfect Lu Nuncio, had things been different. “You need bodyguards,” he told Rule.
“Killing me would disarrange their plans.”
“They may prefer getting you arrested to killing you, but what happens if you aren’t arrested?”
Rule nodded, conceding the point. If they couldn’t get rid of him one way, they might try something more direct. “Understood. But I can’t do what I need to do wh
ile trailing bodyguards. And it’s not as if I would be easy to kill.”
Benedict gave him a hard look but dropped the subject. He might rule over security within Clanhome, but he couldn’t force Rule to accept bodyguards outside its boundaries. He dug in his pocket and tossed a set of keys to Mick. “I need to talk to Rule. Take my Jeep back.”
Mick’s expression darkened with temper, but there wasn’t much point in arguing with Benedict. After a moment he shrugged one shoulder and nodded at Rule. “See you shortly,” he said and headed for the Jeep.
Benedict waited until Mick pulled away. “All right. What’s going on? That cryptic warning you gave me this morning needs explaining.”
“That’s why we’re here.” Benedict was responsible for protecting the Rho. He had to know what he might be up against. “Do you remember Cullen Seabourne?”
“Seabourne . . .” Benedict paused, frowning. “You used to hang out with him, back when you were younger and dumber. But that one . . . wasn’t he clanless?”
“Yes. And also my friend.”
“You have some peculiar friends.” Something like bafflement overtook his dour expression. “I remember now. He had a cat.”
That made Rule smile, if fleetingly. Lupi and cats generally avoided each other. “So he did. What I’m going to tell you is for your ears only, Benedict. Isen knows about this. The Council doesn’t.”
Benedict nodded. “You’re itchy,” he observed.
“Moonchange is close, and it’s been awhile. And . . .” He thrust a hand through his hair. “There’s a lot to be itchy about right now.”
“You need a workout, but there isn’t time. We’ll walk.” He started for the road.
One of the annoying things about Benedict was how often he was right. It did feel better to move. “Cullen is only one of those I’ve kept in touch with from my younger and dumber days. Not just lupi, either. Too often, those of us of the Blood operate like little islands in the sea of humanity. We don’t talk to each other, much less cooperate.”
