A Wolf of Her Own

by Susanna Shore

  Vince looked offended. "No I didn’t. I utilised intelligence information to anticipate your move in order to prepare for the outcome." He pronounced every word carefully, as if he had memorised the sentence.

  Kieran burst laughing. "That you did. But you still cheated. The purpose of this exercise was to learn how to track."

  The boy looked pensive. "I guess." Then his face cleared. "But I still won. Can I climb up there with you?"

  "Sure." Kieran knew better than to offer his help, and in no time at all Vince was up, sitting astride on the wall, swinging his skinny legs back and forth.

  Watching Vince, it felt like a return to his childhood, as he looked so much like his father at the same age. It had been their brother Colm watching over the pair of them then, fifty years older yet never acting like his baby brothers were a nuisance—which they had been. He had really loved children. Pity he’d never had a chance to have any of his own.

  Old pain was pushed aside by the new generation. "Wow! I can see everywhere from here. Can I stand up?"

  Kieran wanted to say no, but he had been climbing on this same wall at Vince’s age and had come to no harm. So he just nodded and watched in equal parts of admiration and worry as the boy got nimbly on his feet.

  "I bet I could see to London from here," Vince gushed.

  "Highly doubtful."

  "To Epsom, then."

  "That’s not gonna happen either."

  "Why not?"

  "Because it’s to the north from here and the wall is facing west."

  The boy accepted this good-naturedly and continued his study of the surrounding countryside. It took almost ten minutes before the first of those cubs who had actually tracked Kieran arrived. They looked amazed when they saw that Vince was already there.

  "I won!" he declared to his friends.

  "No you didn’t," Kieran reminded him, and he sighed.

  "Fine, but I’ll get the award for cleverness."

  Kieran grinned. "That you do. Okay, you all did very well. Off you go."

  "Aren’t you coming too?"

  His nephew looked upset, but Kieran shook his head. "I’ll check the perimeter now that I’m here." He wasn’t in the regular security rota, his architect firm keeping him busy enough, but he took the safety of his clan seriously.

  "I’ll come with you," Vince stated, but Kieran wouldn’t accept the offer.

  "No, you’ll head to school."

  Vince made a face. "Yuck, school. I’d rather be here with you."

  "Nevertheless, school it is." Kieran had fought his way through Eton at Vince’s age when the prestigious school had opened for the two-natured for the first time. He had been grateful for the chance to attend, even though it had meant facing prejudice he had been too young to comprehend. He was stronger for surviving it. Vince’s generation had things so much easier that he should have nothing to complain.

  The boy looked like he would protest, but a frown sent him on his way with his friends. Kieran wouldn’t put it past his nephew to disobey and show up on his path later, but he would deal with it if and when it happened.

  He got up and was about to drop down from the wall when movement caught his eye. A four-wheeler was driving fast over the closest field, heedless of the uneven ground, making the vehicle jump. Those things weren’t easy to control in the best of terrains, let alone on a pasture made treacherous by rain.

  The vehicle made a beeline to a gate on that side of the wall, a seldom-used side access. It had to be one of their people driving it then; no one else would know about it. He dropped down from the wall and headed to the gate.

  It wasn’t far and Kieran was a fast runner so he reached it first. The gate was locked, but it wasn’t manned. The key was in a strongbox in a nearby tree in case someone needed to use the gate. He fetched it and was staring through the wrought-iron bars as the ATV paused outside and cut the engine.

  Not a clan member after all, but a strange woman.

  Kieran couldn’t tell much more about her than that. Was she one or two-natured? He tried to get her scent but the wind was against him. Her clothes were loose-fitting, hiding her body; a scarf covered her hair, and her face—as well as her clothes—was a grey mask of mud, which made it difficult to sense anything about her. Had she been in an accident? Did she need help?

  He was about to act on the thought when she spoke. "Well, don’t just stand there. Open the gate!"

  The command made him draw himself straighter. "Excuse me?"

  "You heard me, wolf. I need to see your alpha. Now!"

  Only two-natured were able to see the translucent manifestations of shifters’ animal forms, but his aura wasn’t out. It wasn’t much of a leap to assume he was a wolf, however, so she could as easily be a human making an educated guess.

  He rejected the notion immediately. A human wouldn’t know about this gate. It was in the middle of shifter and vampire territory, private land accessible only to their people. And since she wasn’t one of his clan, it had to mean she came from the Byrd farm.

  Vampire or human, she was a stranger and he wasn’t about to give in to her command. He shook his head, firmly. "No."

  She was taken aback. "What do you mean, no?"

  "Nobody marches in here—or drives—and demands to see our alpha. State your business and I’ll call him to see if he’s available."

  She frowned, annoyed that he wouldn’t simply obey. They could argue forever, but two-natured had more subtle means of communicating. He increased the impact he had on Might, the energy all two-natured were dependent on. He could not let her pass and the changes in Might would tell her that. Her gaze remained steady on him, his dominance having no visible effect on her, but she nodded.

  "Fine. A pack of wolves has eaten three of my pregnant ewes. I demand justice and I will see that your alpha delivers it."

  Kieran stared at the woman for a few slow heartbeats as his mind struggled to comprehend her accusation. His hands squeezed the iron bars, physically trying to repel her words. But they couldn’t be unheard.

  Not this again. His fury surfaced so fast that only the gate prevented him from acting on it. His wolf surged out and growled, and he let the sound escape his mouth. "That is bloody rich of you, woman, coming here to accuse our clan of such crime." He knew all too well where false accusations would lead. "Greenwood clan has been here for centuries, and I can assure you we have never touched a single sheep. Ever!" He shouted the last word, but the woman didn’t even flinch.

  "I know what I saw," she said angrily. "There aren’t other wolves here. It had to be you."

  "And I say you’re wrong. You’re seeing things."

  She moved so fast he barely registered it. One moment she was on her vehicle and on the next she was at the gate, her face pressing in through the bars. "Are you calling me a liar?"

  She was of average height, five-six, tops, but it didn’t stop her from trying to look down at him. Her natural scent was covered with mud, pig and horse; not an attractive combination. He resisted an urge to snort like a wolf to clear his sinuses against the olfactory onslaught. Mud concealed her features, but her eyes were clear, shining almost golden with anger. And there was no mistaking the sharp long fangs, very unlike wolfs’, she had bared at him.

  "So, you are a vampire!" As if there had been any doubt.

  She rolled her eyes, much like Vincent had earlier. "Give the man a gold medal for being FUDGING OBVIOUS!"

  Her sarcasm broke the tension. "Fudging? What sort of a vampire says fudging?"

  She shot him a superior look before retreating from the gate and withdrawing her fangs. "One that has been brought up to know better."

  "From the Byrd farm?"

  She gave him a slow look in return, his question not meriting an answer. Kieran thought quickly. This wasn’t the first time sheep had been killed on the Byrd farm, and it hadn’t been wolves back then either. Yet it had led to his brother’s death.

  Never again.

  Pain for Colm sur
faced anew and he squeezed the bars to push it down. Vampires hadn’t killed him. Humans had. She had no reason to lie that he knew of, and nothing could be achieved by blatant denial.

  "I had better take a look at it myself." And if he found out she had been lying after all, he would show her exactly what kind of wolf she was dealing with.

  Chapter Three

  The wolf on the other side of the wrought iron gate seemed oddly familiar even though he was a stranger. The clan was large, and though she had come across quite a few members in her 128 years, give or take a few years for infancy, she knew she had never met him. She would remember.

  Striking though his looks were, they weren’t the source of the familiarity. It was how he felt and resonated in Might. It took her a moment to place the sensory memory from 120 years ago and then she recoiled. He felt like the wolf friend she’d had when she was a little girl. His effect on her had been different, indirect, as she had been a human still, her promise not yet fulfilled. The vampire gene had made her aware of Might unlike mere humans were, but until now she hadn’t realised how much.

  Her wolf friend had always been able to soothe her fears, even in wolf form. But the man before her managed more. He had made her anger subside and her Rider withdraw with his mere presence. It was baffling, and more than a little frightening. She had never experienced the same before.

  He wasn’t her wolf friend though. Her friend had abandoned her when she was eight, without good-byes, never returning.

  This man didn’t even look like her wolf friend—what she remembered of him anyway after such a long time. He hadn’t had such incredible hair for one; his had been dark brown and neatly cut. This man’s hair was a fashionably unkempt mop that cascaded around his face, falling to his eyes, the colour a beautiful dark auburn that shone in spectacular red when sun lit it at the right angle. He regarded her from beneath the fringe like he doubted everything she said but was willing to take advantage of her nonetheless, making him look rather cynical.

  His features emphasised his anger. Everything looked as if drawn on with a knife: sharp cheekbones and well-defined jawline, narrow and straight nose, and brows a clear-cut dark line over light blue eyes. They were intense, the mind behind them alert as he studied her in return.

  "Have you watched your fill?" A sneer twisted his lips and his eyes remained cold.

  Gemma gritted her teeth to stop her Rider from lashing out. Then she swept her eyes down the length of him to show that he had no effect on her. He was tall and leanly built, but tight muscles prevented his narrow torso and long legs from looking rangy. There was violent strength to him that stemmed from more than mere arrogance. It was confidence in his ability to push that body to the limit and beyond that she found curiously attractive. An unexpected reaction, for she didn’t like violence—and an unwanted reaction too. He could be the killer, the violent air a residue of, or cause for, his deed.

  Faded jeans hung loosely from his narrow hips and his old hiking boots were covered in mud and dead leaves. He wore only a t-shirt though the weather was cold, revealing tight sinewy muscles of his arms. He was definitely strong enough to kill a sheep, even in this form.

  Slowly, she returned her gaze to his eyes and nodded. "Now I have. Can we go?"

  He unlocked the gate, came through it and locked it again behind him. The clan took their security seriously still. The worst times, the Sentient War, had been over before her birth, but Tom, who was a century older, had told her stories. It had been absolutely necessary to keep constant vigilance on their farm too, but they weren’t concerned with the security anymore.

  The worst threat had come from within.

  "Come on, wolf. Hurry up." She sounded harsher than she intended, the memory of her mother more raw today than it had been in ages.

  He frowned. "I don’t appreciate being called a wolf."

  As someone who didn’t want to be called a vampire—hadn’t wanted to be one—she could sympathise. But she wasn’t about to ask his name. She needed to think of him as the enemy, the killer. Names would alter that. "Yes, yes. But the trace grows cold."

  That got him moving. "I’m driving."

  "In your dreams. This is my vehicle and I know the route."

  He wouldn’t budge. "I saw how you drive. I’d like to get there alive, thank you very much."

  "What, is the widdle wolfie afvaid?" Taunting him wasn’t wise, but the words simply spilled out.

  He didn’t rise to her mocking. "Absolutely terrified."

  "I promise I’ll be gentle." And she took the front seat.

  He sat behind her, wrapped his arms around her, and pressed his torso against her back. His body heat penetrated layers of clothing and mud as his long legs followed the lines of her thighs intimately, deliberately trying to push her off balance.

  So the wolf isn’t above petty retaliation.

  Whatever his intentions, the effect was countered by his Might energy, a cocoon around him that extended to her as well. His closeness should have been arousing, another onslaught on her equilibrium, but his energy was—soothing.

  Baffled, she opened the gas a little too forcefully and the four-wheeler shot forward. His hold tightened instantly, but he didn’t tell her to take it easy.

  "You smell of pig."

  "Well, if you didn’t lean so close, you wouldn’t have to smell it." She hadn’t cared about her appearance, but now she was acutely aware of it.

  "If you didn’t drive like a maniac, I wouldn’t have to lean so close."

  The urge to drive even faster was strong, but she slowed down, to show him—and to make him back off too. But he eased his hold only slightly.

  She tried to ignore him the best she could. The uneven terrain made driving difficult even without distractions, and she needed her superhuman strength to keep the four-wheeler upright. She usually resented her vampire side, but it had its uses. Had her father still been alive, she wouldn’t have admitted it to him though. She had not chosen this for herself, he had chosen for her. The ability to keep a vehicle upright—and to show off to a wolf—wasn’t enough to counter the lifetime struggle with violent urges that her father had doomed her into.

  Hitting a bump on the field, the vehicle jumped, causing the man behind her to tighten his hold again. "You know, I’m the best tracker of my clan," he stated, speaking by her ear even though vampire hearing was good enough for her to hear him over the engine. "I can easily track even older traces. Provided I reach them alive."

  He wants the tracks to grow cold. Drive faster.

  The Rider. The manifestation of her second nature had been quiet during the whole ordeal, a mercy. She had enough trouble controlling it as it was without it actively taking part.

  And control it she must, if she didn’t want to end up like her mother.

  She had managed to keep it reined during the 105 years since her promise had been fulfilled. Her Rider hadn’t got out once. It had earned her the respect of the cunning, violent entity, but it came with a price. She had to maintain constant control of her emotions, unable to feel fully; and she had to restrict the use of her vampire abilities. It would be only too easy for the Rider to free itself when she gave it permission to stretch its claws. She only used what she couldn’t survive without, her shields and her ability to charm humans into doing what she willed—an illegal activity, but necessary if vampires wanted to feed.

  She ignored the Rider, like she often did, too used to the female voice inside her head to pay attention to it. And she didn’t speed up.

  They reached a gate and she slowed to a crawl, preparing to stop to open it, but her passenger had already jumped off and opened it before she could. She drove through, nodding her thanks. On the other side, she paused long enough for him to close the gate again and hop back on.

  He didn’t press against her anymore and the small distance between them made her feel cold. Made her feel ignored. She almost leaned backwards to gap it and only caught herself at the last moment.

&nb
sp; Ah, that’s why you want to drive slowly, to feel up the wolf, the Rider mocked her.

  Shut up.

  They cleared another gate to the meadow and the crime scene. She drove across the wet pasture right to the grove and killed the engine. They dismounted. "It’s in there."

  He headed into the woods, not waiting for her. She hurried to follow him, but he halted her. "I’m going alone."

  "So you can cover up the evidence? Absolutely not!"

  His explosion was instantaneous. "I fucking told you we didn’t do this! Maybe it was Mrs Byrd again."

  Her knees buckled in shock. He knew about that? He made to steady her, but she shook his arm off and pulled herself together. "My mother is dead."

  His fury calmed as fast as it had risen. Regret and compassion took its place, strong and genuine. Shifters had the luxury to feel and express their emotions how they willed, the lucky bastards, whereas she could barely breathe trying to control her upset.

  "Look, you stink to high heaven. I can’t smell anything but you. Just stay here."

  She had got used to the smell of herself, but he had a point so she conceded without a word. She leaned against the four-wheeler and watched him enter the woods, her arms folded over her chest in a petulant gesture, to all appearances prepared to wait for him.

  The moment he was out of sight, she checked the wind. Then she circled the grove until she could enter it downwind. She didn’t want to distract him with her smell, in case he was telling the truth, but she wasn’t leaving him unsupervised either. In case he wasn’t.

  She wasn’t exactly light on her feet as she made her way through the grove. She had never had a reason to learn a silent approach—unlike the master tracker who had barely made a sound when he disappeared into the woods. But she tried her best.

  She was successful too. He didn’t react when she reached the carnage from the opposite side, even though she was almost in his line of sight. She crouched, partially hiding behind a tree to watch him.

  He was standing by the carnage, staring at it in disbelief and anger. His wolf aura was out and she studied it, fascinated like always by the visible expression of shifters’ second nature. It was how she had met her wolf friend too. She hadn’t been able to see the auras, her promise not yet fulfilled, but Tom had told her about wolf-shifters in the neighbourhood. Infinitely curious, she had sneaked into the Greenwood manor grounds to watch them, only to be caught by a soldier guarding the wall. But instead of getting angry with her, he had shifted for her and then played fetch like he had been her dog.