Devoncroix Dynasty - The Promise Part 3

I started laughing again, because I could imagine, at that moment, Walter's father belowstairs in the great dark musty-smelling library giving him the same lecture about me.

"You needn't be jealous, Freda," I teased her. "I can never be a princess like you. The most I can aspire to be is a countess, and then only if I am very, very good to this lovely Earl!"

She scowled at me. "Don't be vulgar." Then she persisted. "It is said he has unusual s.e.xual tastes."

"I am proof enough of that."

"That he is cruel and cold. That he killed a man in Italy, maybe more than one, and still may not return there because of it."

I shrugged. "Humans kill each other all the time."

"Nonetheless, I don't believe it is considered good form to do so in one's own drawing room," she retorted.

I really was growing tired of Freda's complaints. "I think," I said, "you truly are jealous."

She stared at me. "Of that weakling human?"

"Of me. Of the fact that I have a human and you do not."

Her skin flushed and her breath grew quick, though she tried to disguise it. I couldn't help taunting her, for she had irritated me when I only wanted her to be happy for me, and it wasn't fair. "You could have your pick of them, you know, and be as cruel to them as you like. But you had rather be cruel to me!

And why? Because you can't make up your mind whether you are of the pack or against it. Because you are too good for humans even though none of your own kind will have you and because you hold out some vain, foolish hope of someday mating with the son of the leader of the pack!"

Ah, that was too unkind of me, wasn't it? I regretted the words the minute they were spoken, for I did not want to argue with Freda, nor did I want to hurt her.

But it was too late.

She looked at me with eyes that were shocked and still while the heat drained from her skin. And then she said, "At least I do not attempt to deny my nature."

The words were as sharp as a bite and they cut just as deeply. I got to my feet

slowly in what I imagined to be a display of dignity, though I was throbbing with hurt inside. "There you are mistaken," I said. "I have no nature to deny." She came to me swiftly, remorse flooding her features. "Oh, Bri, don't freeze me out. I know I was hateful and I'm sorry. But listen to me; think of this." She caught my arms earnestly. "If you had your choice, what would you really rather be doing tonight? Dining at Lord Pennington's table on cold fish and bits of boiled beef, or running through the meadow with the moon in your eyes and the dew on your tongue, in pursuit of your prey?" I twisted away from her, scowling, but she could smell the need on my skin. "Remember the day I first met you?" she insisted. "Remember how you ran and ran on your two human-formed legs?" "And stole your dinner because I could not catch my own." "Brianna, that is your nature, to be what you are, not what I am, not what Pennington wants you to be, not what you think you should be, but what you are." The beat of her heart was rus.h.i.+ng in my ears, the smell of her conviction strong. She backed away from me then, and her eyes were like low-glowing coals. She let the chiffon coat fall from her shoulders and onto the floor, then she reached behind to undo the fastenings of her gown. "I think," she said, "I will dine out tonight. Will you join me?" She stepped free of her gown and tossed it casually on the bed, followed by the silk undergarments and satin shoes and embroidered stockings. She freed her hair with her fingers and shook it loose around her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Ah, there was a wild smell about her, a primitive savage gleam in her eyes as she tossed back the veil of her hair, as inviting as laughter, as alluring as a forbidden secret. Could she hear my heart throbbing? I know she could. Could she smell my need? Of course she could. She put out her hand to me and she said again, "Will you?" I will, I will! I shouted back to her without saying a word. Breath quick and hard, muscles set, quivering, eyes going narrow in their sockets. She smiled to see this, and took some steps farther away from me, and stretched up her hands over her head, fingers locked together, showing off the lovely structure of that thin strong body, hips flexing, calves lengthening, b.r.e.a.s.t.s lifting. Head thrown back so that the dark swirl of her hair almost touched the backs of her knees, she drew in a single long breath, gave a half turn and surrendered to the Pa.s.sion in a soft explosion of pale light and the scent of fleur-de-lis. The heady residue of her Change swirled through the air and made the s.p.a.cious chamber seem suddenly small; it flooded my senses and left me weak and staggering, so that I fell back, clutching the drapery for support. And when my head cleared she was there before me in strong black wolf form, fur glistening, eyes questioning. I gathered myself; I pulled open the window more fully for her. She bounded gracefully through. When I looked out she was on the darkened lawn, cast in silhouette by the yellow light of the windows below, waiting for me. She always waited for me.

I climbed through the window in my white s.h.i.+ft and bare feet. It was a drop of some six feet to the next roof, another ten to the ground, but I managed it just as Freda had. Exhilarated, I laughed and she tossed her head and grinned and beckoned me and together we ran. Of course she outdistanced me in a flash, but I didn't care. All I cared about was to be running, damp breeze tearing at my hair, bare feet tearing into turf, dodging limbs and branches; lungs straining, muscles stretching, heart pumping, swelling, pumping... ah, it was glorious. Even on two legs, it was glorious. Her scent was always with me, sometimes strong on the gra.s.s, sometimes faint on the wind, but always warm, alive, companionable. So, you see, it wasn't like running alone. It was like-it was as close as I can imagine it being like-running with the pack. Our very own small pack, hers and mine. At length I caught the scent of other living things, their heat and movement and soft grumbling sounds, and I knew immediately where she had led me. I should have turned back. I should have known to say the game had run its course. But something had been released in me that could not so easily be returned to its cage. You know this beast, my dear; you are on the most intimate of terms with it. Do not think that just because I am different from you in that one small way I have never called out its name, have never flung open my arms wide and embraced it to my bosom. Oh, no, the only real difference between us is that I am too often required to keep my beast hidden. So it was with hot saliva pooling in my mouth that I crept up beside Freda on the hill where she crouched in the shadows, overlooking the lazily scattered flock of sheep below. I dropped down on my stomach on the ground beside her, breathing in her hot excitement and my own rich sweat. She glanced at me. Without questioning how I knew it, I understood. I leapt from my position and with a great ululating screeching cry I plunged down the hill and into the midst of the flock. It was a child's game, nothing more, and I don't pretend to compare it to the thrill of a real hunt. I scattered the sheep, they cried and milled and b.u.mped into one another in their stupid, clumsy fright and Freda took her time in bounding play, circling cutting back, separating out the best. But there was a thrill to it, I tell you, there was an excitement to be in the midst of a kill with frenzy and glory, the smell of churned earth and fear, the indigo sky, the deep, fast-moving shadows, and now the scream of death, now the spurt of blood. I laughed out loud with the greatness of it. Freda dragged her kill a little away from the mud and offal the stupid herd had churned up, and by the time I reached her she had already torn open the chest and removed the best organs. I dropped down beside the kill and the wave of hot fresh meat-scent that rose from the open carca.s.s made my stomach cramp. I started to plunge my hand in, grabbing for the stomach, but Freda snapped at me, drawing back her b.l.o.o.d.y muzzle to show her teeth. I withdrew respectfully, if a little resentfully. True, it was her kill, and true, she needed the nourishment more than I, but there was indeed enough for two. The wet crunching sounds she made as she tore at the innards filled me with a courage born of hunger, and when she freed a sizeable chunk of flesh and retreated with it, I saw my chance and approached the kill. She watched me but continued to chew, making no move to stop me. I fell greedily to the feast. I could have used my hands to tear off a delicacy or two; I could have taken the edge off the hunger that was generated by nothing more than the sensual and hormonal flood tide the chase had released within me. But I needed to bathe myself in the experience, to plunge my face deep into the open wound and taste the heat and the blood, to fasten my teeth upon the slippery sinews of flesh that only moments ago had held life, had been life, had surrendered its life to me, to us. I flung my human-formed body upon the animal, I tore at its flesh with my human-formed teeth, I buried my face in damp b.l.o.o.d.y wool and I was alive. For that one endless, glorious moment, I was alive. Yet even in the midst of the orgy my senses were as sharp as they've ever been-perhaps sharper. I heard the hooves on soft gra.s.s, I smelled the horse. I snapped my head up, listening intently for a moment, then whirled around. Freda was gone. By this time I knew who approached. And I knew who had told him I would be here. I had time to clean my face and move away from the kill, but I could do nothing about my stained s.h.i.+ft, my wild and tangled hair, the dead sheep on the ground. Nor, if the truth be told, did I care to. So I stood there, and waited. I think the horse smelled the wildness on me, or perhaps the presence of the werewolf so recently near, for as it came over the hill it s.h.i.+ed and reared and gave a scream. Walter handled it with a rude, deft hand, mastering the beast as he mastered his own shock at what he saw outlined in the moonlight before him-the scattered flock, the eviscerated sheep and me. It had been Freda's plan to make certain Walter saw my true nature, to test his mettle. What she had not counted upon was that I would see Walter's true nature. And what I saw was quite dumbfounding. He slid off the restless prancing horse and secured its reins to the limb of a tree. He was in full dinner dress, and I can only imagine that the message Freda had arranged to have sent to him had indicated some urgency, to send him out on horseback like this. He strode toward me, and I saw his nostrils flare, heard his heartbeat quicken as he realized that the wet stain that plastered the front of my s.h.i.+ft to my b.r.e.a.s.t.s and my stomach was blood. I smelled horror on him, and then quick anger, and I understood the anger was because of the first quick flash of fear he had felt before he understood the blood that soaked my garment was not my own. He stopped a few feet in front of me. He looked at the gutted sheep. He looked at me. I didn't care. I was still half crazed with the wildness of the night and the glory of my run and I didn't care. He came closer, reached out a hand and plucked a dried leaf from my hair. He gazed deeply into my eyes. My eyes blazed back at him. He seized my shoulders roughly. I lifted my head in grand defiance, chest heaving with full rapid breaths born of exertion and excitement, heart pounding, thundering. I said softly, so close to him that my breath went into his mouth, "Take care not to hold me too closely. I would hate to b.l.o.o.d.y your pretty white s.h.i.+rtfront." His gaze flickered to my chest. Now the thunder that filled my ears was his heartbeat, and the fever that flushed my skin was his heat. He released my shoulders, and took hold of my s.h.i.+ft on either side of the bodice, and with a single powerful motion he tore the wet fabric from my body. My skin was slippery as his hands glided over it, b.r.e.a.s.t.s and torso and abdomen, and then his fingers were wet as they thrust into my hair, and he pressed his hard kiss upon me and we tumbled to the ground, and that is how we first made love, my Walter and I. You can see why I adored him. You surely must. The next morning Walter's father remarked about the wild dog that had killed one of his sheep, and Walter's eyes met mine over kippers and sweet tea, but not a word of the incident was ever spoken between us. Nor was there any need to discuss the matter with Freda. She had acted in my best interest, and as any clever werewolf would have done, she had used cunning and deception to achieve her ends. I know she would have liked to see a different result, but in fact it was all for the best. In the afternoon we strolled among his mother's roses, Walter and I, so very civilized in our whites and our hats, and he said, "You understand, of course, that now you will have to marry me." I laughed and I laughed. But the next week was when you returned to London, my dear, and terrified me with my love for you. And the next time Walter asked me to marry him, I didn't laugh at all. From the Writings of Matise Devoncroix XXIX I can't tell you how I left Freda's house. How astonishment gave way to incredulity and disbelief became shock and finally anger. I must have made some manner of terse goodbyes, because I remember Freda clutching my arm in the foyer, her eyes dark and distressed as she begged me not to do anything rash. She needn't have worried. By this time Brianna and her human had gone away in his long black car and I couldn't have followed them had I wished. And I didn't wish to follow them, not then. I was filled with a great roiling emotion that pushed the brink of my control, and I dared not remain near humans. Freda was right, of course, when she pleaded with me to remain calm. To allow Pa.s.sion to overcome reason is to negate all we have become, all we have accomplished. But understand my pain, my fury, my longing for all that was impossible, all that I could desire but never command. There was but one remedy, and it was in magic.

I left my Stutz Bearcat parked crookedly on the street before my apartment and I did not even go inside to Change; I stripped naked in the middle of the street, careless of what humans might see, almost defying them to see, although none did. I plunged into the cultivated wilderness and I ran, and I ran, and I ran. In this madness there is magic, a cure for helplessness and anger and despair; a victory over bondage and restraint and all things human. The bite of the cold, the rush of air into my nostrils, the blurring of lights and the sound of human invention all beneath my power, the crunch of small bones between my teeth, the gush of blood, the triumph, the power. The power. I tore the flesh from my small catch, I shook it viciously, spraying myself with blood, burying my muzzle in its soft innards sheerly for the pleasure of it. I wasn't hungry. I simply wanted to kill. And it was from the depths of this sensual, self-involved immersion that I caught another heartbeat, tasted another scent. But I was drunk on my own indulgence and did not react quickly enough. She charged me before I turned. She slammed into me with the full force of her body and knocked me off my feet, and before I could react she dug her teeth into my neck and kicked me hard. This is a perfectly acceptable challenge when one werewolf meets another, yet I sensed a moment of real hostility within it and it caught me off guard, long enough for her to draw blood. I growled and spun around to retaliate but captured nothing but a mouthful of fur; mocking me, she leapt out of reach and then was off in a blur. I was at least as confused as I was annoyed, and I followed her just as she had intended. She crossed the darkened street and entered my apartment through the open window, and by the time I sprang over the sill, nothing remained of her Change but the scent of it. She made a beautiful nude in the moonlight, tossing back her long tangled hair as she straightened up, regarding me with impatience and disdain. I myself despise Changing indoors. There is never enough room and necessity quite takes the glory out of it. But I was so put out with Freda at this point that being cornered, as it were, in my own apartment seemed just another inconvenience, so I executed a quick and utilitarian Change, and when I faced her she was stepping into her silver-and-black dress, and twisting her hair into coils. "By all means, make yourself free in my home," I snapped, irritably rubbing the place on my neck which she had bitten. "Confound it all, Freda, have you gone mad? What's gotten into you?" "Do pardon me for interrupting your run," she returned sharply, stabbing a coil of hair with a jewel-studded pin. "Running is, after all, what you do best." Had it been anyone but Freda, I would not have tolerated this for a moment. But she had never challenged me before; this in itself was astonis.h.i.+ng enough. That she now could confound her impudence with accusations and sarcasm left me in a state between outrage and bewilderment.

I glared at her. "You knew about this absurdity. You knew about Brianna's fixation with the human and you didn't tell me." But she was not intimidated. "And did it not occur to you, my fine young friend, that if you hadn't deserted her all those years ago, it might not have come to this?" Even her attack had not shocked me so, not even her bite. This I had not expected from her. Not from the Freda I knew. I said on a low and furious breath, "How dare you speak to me thus! You know nothing about it, nothing!" I approached her in a rage, but she did not flinch. I brushed past her and flung open the door of my wardrobe, pulling a silk robe over my nakedness. Freda said quietly in the dark, "I know everything." I spun around, belting the robe closed with a jerk, and the air between us smelled hot and crisp with danger. I felt the crackle of it in my hair, tingling in my fingertips. I repeated softly but very distinctly, "You know nothing." Freda moved away from me, skirting the bed and a big soft chair where I liked to read sometimes, and she turned on a lamp. The glow was gentle, though it hurt my eyes, as it must have done hers. Another moment or two pa.s.sed before I could focus, and by that time the edge of my rage was gone. Freda went over to the lowboy, where there was a decanter of brandy and some gla.s.ses on a silver tray, and some candies and biscuits that my housekeeper supplied fresh every day. She picked up a biscuit, nibbled it experimentally, put it down again. She said, "You know the story of The Lost Heir." I said nothing. I tried to make my mind still and my pulses quiet. I watched her. She said, "In the time before Humans, long, long ago, a powerful queen's last-born, the destined heir, was stolen by an ambitious rival, and replaced with a cub so much alike that even the queen couldn't tell the difference." She poured a measure of brandy into a balloon gla.s.s and offered it to me. I remained stone-faced, motionless. She sipped the brandy herself. "The cub grew as a member of the family, though still loyal to its birth family, who plotted to take over the pack by claiming the cub as their own when the queen died. Do you remember how the plot was foiled, Matise?" She watched me over the rim of the snifter. "You should. You've written the tale with all its proper embellishments for the collected pack texts." I refused to answer. I could feel a film of sweat beneath my arms and on the back of my neck, and I knew that she could smell it. It was cold and sour, like the feeling in the pit of my stomach. She continued. "The changeling fell in love with his adopted sister, the queen's true child, and she with him. Their arousal was so intense they couldn't resist the Pa.s.sion, and they mated. It was in this way that the pack knew the impostor was not the queen's own child, because it is impossible for a brother and a sister to arouse each other."

I said hoa.r.s.ely, "It's just a story, a cradle tale." But I couldn't control my pulse anymore, or the scent of powerful mixed emotions that flooded my skin. I knew what she was going to say. And it was outrageous. Her eyes flashed with impatience. "Ah, yes, so much easier for you to believe Brianna is at fault! Brianna the defective, Brianna the wicked-" "I never thought her wicked! It was me-" "Yes, it was you!" she spat back. "You who were weak, you who were afraid, you who had so little faith in this woman you claim to adore that you would reject the logical for the impossible in order to blame her! You were aroused by her, Matise," she stated plainly, firmly. "The logic of it is that she cannot be your natural sister." My heartbeat was wild-with hope, with anger, with shame, with expectation and denial. I tried to hide this from her with laughter. "You should be the writer of tales, Freda! What an imagination you have." "It is perhaps because I have no imagination that the conclusion comes to me so easily," she replied coolly. "I smell the shame on you Matise. I hope it is because you know your error." "I know nothing," I returned sharply, "except that you are interfering in things that are none of your concern and that your conclusions are spiteful and outrageous. Brianna Devoncroix is the firstborn of the leader of the pack, everyone knows that! To even suggest otherwise is heresy. In the old days you would be tossed into a cage to rot for spreading such gossip." Now I wanted a brandy. I strode over to her and s.n.a.t.c.hed up the decanter, slos.h.i.+ng a measure into a gla.s.s. It annoyed me that my hands were not quite steady, and I knew she could hear the fine trembling of my muscles as the adrenaline surge attacked them. Freda was mad and her suggestions were cruelly incredulous. But what if she was not? What if she was not? I downed the brandy in a single swallow, then looked at her with sudden, sharp suspicion. "You haven't repeated this nonsense to Brianna, have you?" "There was no point. As long as you were wandering the globe trying to escape from her, it would have been more cruel than kind to suggest that her heart had been broken for nothing." "And why come to me with this folderol now? Why wait all these years to decide to torment me?" She took another sip from her gla.s.s, her eyes calm and unblinking. "I met a man a year or two ago. He told me he served as guard to your parents for forty years and came to beg of me admittance to one of Brianna's shows. He said he had a special acquaintance with her-that he had been present at her birth." I held my breath. I think I had known-surely I must have known from the beginning-that Freda would not have approached me with such an outrageous tale without some form of proof. Yet still I couldn't believe it. "He lied, of course," she continued casually. "But he had caught my interest-because, you see, I had already wondered about the circ.u.mstances of Brianna's birth, just as you should have done. Upon further questioning, this guard admitted he had not been present at any birth at all, but he testifies to the fact that he never left your mother's side during the spring and summer of 1900, and that there was no pregnancy. Your parents went into the mountains and discovered Castle Devoncroix, and when they returned a day or so later, there was the infant Brianna. They declared the child to be their own and it was so. But your mother did not give birth to her. This he swears." "Then he is a liar." The words came out raspy and dry, without my ever planning to utter them at all. My lips felt numb, my skin suddenly cold. Was it because I wanted so desperately to believe her words, or because I was terrified to do so? Or was it because I knew the truth deep in the pit of my soul, had known it from the moment Freda began speaking, even before? Freda's voice took on a tight note, underscored by urgency. "Ask your father. Ask your mother. Would they deceive you, knowing what the lie would cost-has already cost? You know it in your heart, Matise. If you loved her half as much as you claim, you would admit it now." Two children, six months apart. Barely a physical possibility, it had always been a matter of marvel within the pack. Brianna, born unattended in the Alaskan wilderness. And an anthropomorph, the most unlikely result of two of the strongest Devoncroix lines. Sister arousing brother to the point of Pa.s.sion... The bowl of the empty brandy snifter suddenly exploded beneath the pressure of my fingers. I stared down at the s.h.i.+ny fragments in my hand and on the carpet at my feet without comprehension or care. Ah, I knew it. How could I not have known? How could I have punished Brianna, and myself, for all these years by refusing to know? Absently, I brushed the slivers of gla.s.s from my hands and from my robe. I looked at Freda. "And you've kept this secret-this secret that might have saved us both-for all this time." My voice was without accusation, and all but with the mildest inflection. I lacked the resources to manage more. Freda made a gesture of impatient self-defense. "And should I have done otherwise? You left her, Matise; you left both of us. Until you came to me-to her-of your own free will, I had no way of knowing what your real feelings might be, or whether you would only use this information to hurt her further." She drew in a breath, and for the first time cast her gaze away from mine. "In truth, I might not have told you yet, for in many ways she was better off without you-and without the pack that you were so quick to choose over her. But when I saw you the other day-when I saw her face with you tonight-I realized that you may be the only person in the world who can stop her from pursuing this outrageous marriage. I despise you for what you have done to her, Matise, but I had rather she be with you than destroy her life with this human." Freda put her snifter down very carefully on the silver tray, and added, clear-eyed, "It's one thing for me to reject the pack. I have my family and we are strong and large, and none of us has ever been alone. But Brianna-if she marries this human, if she makes a public liaison with him through that pagan human ceremony, admitting to having s.e.x with him, to joining herself with him-there will be no turning back. No one will be able to help her then, and to the pack she will be dead. Ask your parents, Matise," she said, and now an edge of pleading tightened her tone. "Just please-ask them for the truth." She turned then and left, closing the door quietly behind her. Twelve The Wilderness 14:58 Alaska Standard Time November 25 The human slept, did she dream of long-ago times and worlds unknown to her? Were her dreams haunted by the misdeeds of creatures she had never before imagined to exist? She looked harmless in her sleep, untroubled and innocent. But in her head swam secrets no human should possess. Soon, if she finished the book, the most horrible secret of all would be hers. He was frustrated by her silence, by the absence of her, though he knew it was absurd he should feel so. He should be grateful she had closed the book, for the longer she slept, the less she would know of what was not hers to know, not ever. Yet he wanted to know. He wanted to hear more of the story of Matise, his brother... and Brianna, the female who had forever changed everything he once had thought was true. Brianna, he thought. Had you never been born, none of us would be where we are today. There would have been no b.l.o.o.d.y ma.s.sacre in New York, no bomb aboard my private helicopter, no accident contrived to murder my father. I should hate you for this and more... yet, strangely, I cannot. Was this, then, why his father had insisted he read the story of Brianna that was bound between the covers of that red book? There could be no other reason. What possible secrets could that book contain that were more horrible than the ones he knew already? Alexander Devoncroix had been far too pragmatic a man and shrewd a leader to imagine Nicholas would be swayed by sentiment for the adopted sister he had never known. There must be something more. Why didn't the human wake up and read? And that, of course, was a foolish wish. As innocent as she looked in her sleep, the human was far from harmless; Nicholas knew that. It was not what she might tell other humans that concerned him, for the pack had little to fear from humankind. What might she tell her brethren that would impress them in this day of satellite television and special effects and truths that grew more stranger than fiction every day? Hardly a week went by, after all, that some human tabloid or another did not feature tales of the inexplicable that could be traced back to the pack, often with photographs. No one cared. No one was interested. Human minds were focused on more immediate problems than the fate of their species. Ah, but what humans knew, the pack would know. And it would make a difference to them. It would make a difference because they would know it for the truth. And the truth would shake them to the foundation of their souls. What would become of the pack while he lay helpless in this place? How long had he been gone? How long had his people been without a leader of any sort? Panic would set in quickly once they knew, or began to suspect, that the heir of Alexander Devoncroix was missing or dead. Stock markets around the world would begin to plummet, factories would close, commerce would stumble, trade would halt. And what if some ambitious young werewolf-a member of the Dark Brotherhood, for example-seized this opportunity to step into his place and take over the pack? Was anything preventing Michel from doing so? The bars upon the cage confounded him. If only he could escape this place, lives might yet be saved. But he was too weak to break the locks with his teeth, and too confined to Change so that he might use his hands. If she unfastened the doors again to bring him food or water, he could overpower her effortlessly. But he knew with a sinking despair that she would not unfasten the locks again. She might be stupid, but she was no fool, this human. She was accustomed to wolves in the wild, and she had a healthy respect for claws and teeth. She had proved as much the last time she had pa.s.sed the water dish into the cage without opening the door. The wind thundered against the side of the building and the human stirred on the couch where she slept, drawing the quilt more tightly around her shoulders. Nicholas could smell the storm and hear the snow. He could hear something else, not far in the distance yet almost lost in the wind: a call, wordless and long and instantly recognizable. It caused a chill to seize Nicholas's spine. I am here, it said. His heart began to beat very hard. He summoned all of the will at his control not to answer back: I am here! The human awoke with a start, almost as though she had heard the cry as well. She sat up groggily and rubbed her face, then she threw back the quilt and came over to him. Nicholas watched her carefully. He remembered how she had picked up the SCU when he had willed it before. Coincidence? She had awakened to a sound she simply could not have heard. Was it possible-was it at all possible-that she possessed sentience beyond which any werewolf had suspected before? "How are you, fellow?" she said softly. She smelled of warm sleep and cotton, Woodsmoke and wool. She rested her hand atop the cage and bent close. Without her, he would be dead. He knew that. But so much more was at stake here than the life of one human. Again his mother's face rose up to haunt him, her angry, urgent voice: In all these centuries the one discipline we have had is that we have no power over human life. Give the pack that power and we become omnipotent. Do you realize the danger in that? And his reply: You talk like a human. Those were his last words to his mother. You talk like a human. He could see the human woman was about to turn away. He caught her with his gaze. She seemed confused; she glanced at him. He held her tight with the power of his eyes. Human, he thought distinctly. Go to the briefcase. Remove the (here he formed a clear picture of the SCU). Slide the switch on the back of the device upward. Leave it there. Do it. Hannah took a groggy step backward, shaking her head a little. He shouted, Do it! She gasped and pressed her fingers to her temples, pressing hard against a sudden stabbing pain. She blinked, and turned away. The headache began to dissipate almost immediately. Hannah went toward the kitchen for a gla.s.s of water. Her attention was caught by the briefcase lying open on the table. She hesitated, then picked up the electronic organizer again. She felt another stab of pain in her head, and pinched the bridge of her nose, frowning, until it eased. She started to put the organizer down; then, curiously, she turned it over. There was a black switch on the back she had not noticed before. She made a soft sound of surprise-"Hmm"-and pushed the switch upward. Nothing happened. She returned the organizer to the briefcase and poured a gla.s.s of water from the bottle on the kitchen counter. By the time the gla.s.s was filled, however, her headache was gone. She checked on the wolf on her way back to the chair, but his head was on his paws, and his slitted eyes were not interested in her. She resumed her place in the chair, and once again began to read out loud. The transmitter on the table sent its steady silent signal, and Nicholas closed his eyes, and listened to the words. From the Writings of Matise Devoncroix x.x.x And here is the story of the great queen Eudora, the reason that all my other stories have been told; the story without which none of the others would matter. You recall how it was when we abandoned Rome: our great experiment reduced to shambles, civilization lay in smoking ruins. Pillars tumbled, papyrus scrolls gave up the greatness of their thoughts to greedy flames, statues sank to the bottom of the cold dark sea. When we failed, we failed magnificently. A new wave of barbarism and superst.i.tion overtook the humans, and we had not the spirit to fight it. For the first time in untold ages, we were feared, hunted, set up in legend and campfire tale to terrify human children. It was quite disgusting, really. And perhaps the worst of it was that in the face of such rejection we retreated-to our stone fortresses and castles deep, to the rich dark forests of myth and lore, to the wilderness of Siberia, where, under the rough but practical rule of the Antonovs, we learned new lessons in survival-without humans. Without us, human civilization took a great backward plunge, of course. But history barely bothers to record that without them, ours did not fare much better. Oh, we survived, it is true. We survived by avoiding humans, by hiding from them, by killing them when we could. Does that shock you? That such savagery should have afflicted our line in such relatively recent history? This is how it was then: In a little village in Germany, it happened that a cow was brought down, a man was bitten, a child disappeared. The humans believed that a werewolf was at large, and a bounty was put upon the creature's head. In a single day a human brought back a sled piled high with the carca.s.ses of thirty-seven wolves. How many of their kind did we bring back upon our sleds, I wonder, when we heard this tale? There was no peace between us. And for it, both our races were plunged into a long Dark Age of the Soul. What happened? you will wonder. How did this terrible black age come to an end, how did any of us survive it to tell the tale? There is no simple answer, of course, for the factors are many and complex. Some say the process was greatly aided by the decimation of the human population during the fourteenth century. And that occurrence, as we know, was brought about by a mysterious plague to which our species was fortunately immune... a plague, it is said, that had its origins in the Crimea, an Antonov stronghold. It is not my purpose here to speculate further, but I might suggest that history should be kind when looking back upon the fierce, strong rule of the Antonovs. We may owe them more than we think. But the world was changing. We grew tired of wildness, of hiding in forests and castle keeps. Our souls thirsted for the grandness we had once known, for art and music and pleasant indolence. The cities were clearer now, the countryside free of ravaging humans. Many of our population drifted out of the north, toward sunnier climes, and there they found, in the lush wine country of France, the kernel of a new beginning. In A.D. 1250, Silos Devoncroix of Gaul overthrew, by chance and cunning, Leo Antonov of Siberia, and claimed the pack for the Devoncroix. This was the beginning of a new, expansive age for our people, but very little had changed regarding humans. We built magnificent chateaus and villas on the water, we claimed a hundred thousand acres for vineyards, we gradually began to recall our great treasures of art and song and philosophy and to enjoy them again. Around us, humans continued to die of filth and disease and ignorance, and we ignored them as long as they didn't lie too long in the streets. For almost two centuries we persevered in this manner, increasing our own greatness while avoiding humans when we could, despising them when we could not and disposing of them when they became too troublesome. And then a young queen called Eudora inherited the pack. It is said that while returning to the Palais one stormy night the queen's carriage left the road and cracked a wheel in a ditch. The queen was persuaded to take shelter in a Nearby human church while her attendants made repairs. As it happened, the priest of that church struck up a conversation with her, and she was quite astonished by his articulation, as he was, no doubt, by her charm. Now, it was the custom of those times that no werewolf should perform a physically demeaning task when a human was available to perform it for him, and as humans were quite accustomed to serving those wealthier and more powerful than they themselves, there was rarely any argument on that score. When the queen's guards found the human conducting conversation with her, they were outraged, and immediately commanded that he come and remove the carriage from the ditch. He went willingly to do as he was bidden. But his human strength was not up to the task. He slipped in the mud, became trapped under the weight of the vehicle and was gravely injured. The queen was overwhelmed with remorse, and insisted upon taking the broken human back to the Palais, where he could benefit from the healing skills of her own court. What developed between them over those next months is a speculation too complex to relate in this time and s.p.a.ce, and opinions vary widely as to the details. It seems certain, however, that for the first time in more than a millennium, humans and werewolves began to discover in each other the remarkable miracle of reciprocity. Humans were not animals. Werewolves were not monsters. What amazement this must have caused both parties; what astonishment. But cultures do not change overnight, prejudices do not evaporate simply for saying they must, and whoever claims otherwise tells you a fiction. The human priest and the werewolf queen struggled in their souls with their newfound knowledge of each other, exploring it cautiously and with suspicion, not knowing how to act upon it or whether to act at all. The queen dared not let it be known among her court that she regarded this human as anything more than a beast of burden she had nursed back to health; certainly she was in no position to declare her growing belief that all humans might possess sentience. And the young priest, in whom was he to confide his secrets? Only his journals, and his G.o.d. For years they met in secret, the human and the queen, learning of each other, growing with each other, dispelling the myths and superst.i.tions in which time had immersed the separate species. Very subtle changes began to occur around the Palais. Instead of burning out the peasants' huts when they became infested with disease, as would have been the practical method of dealing with them in times past, the queen sent down elixirs to cure them. Instead of working the human laborers to near death for sc.r.a.ps of food and water, as was customary, she began to pay them in coin. As a result, both her vineyards and the village thrived. But the one thing she would not do, could not do, was to declare her friends.h.i.+p with this human openly. What happened was inevitable. After years of conversing together, learning together, coming to understand each other and to depend on each other and to love each other at last as only the deepest and truest of friends can know love-the human was discovered unexpectedly in the one place no human should ever have been: the queen's bedchamber. The guards reacted appropriately and instinctively. Before the queen could stop them, they fell upon the human and tore him asunder. Perhaps you have seen the magnificent DeFranco painting of our good Queen Eudora, kneeling amidst the remains of her slaughtered human, her hands dripping with blood and her face uplifted in a cry of agony and despair, of wretched guilt and bitter, bitter sorrow. So much more than a human died that day. So much more than a life was lost. Yet from the rubble of this tragedy was built an empire that endures to this day, and the blood of this poor human is the mortar that holds the foundation together. The great Queen Eudora arose from his body, with bloodied fists raised to the sky and shaking with power, to make the vow that would change our world, and his, forever. It is a promise that has endured to this day. x.x.xI Ask your parents, Freda had said, papa was in Paris. I could have made the crossing in the morning and been back in London in two days if I used my wolf form for the land portions of the trip. But two days seemed an eternity when the truth was burning a hole in my heart, when hope was pounding in my chest and -quaking in my soul. Hope and remorse and desperation and need and great, tremulous joy-how could I wait two days when Brianna was less than twenty minutes away? And besides, I'm not sure that destiny would have been changed by waiting, anyway. I don't think that anything could have made a difference then. I pulled on my human clothes, trousers and a s.h.i.+rt, and I made my way to Brianna's home, wild-haired, barefoot, needful. Please understand. It was for her sake I did this thing. It was for the love of her. The street was empty and quiet, the windows of her house dark. I leapt the garden wall and went to a side door so as not to disturb the servants. The lock confounded me for a moment, for I had never known a werewolf to lock her doors and had not expected it, but I snapped the flimsy thing between my fingers and stepped inside. The darkened room where I found myself was a small library in which no fire had been lit that night; my breath frosted as I got my bearings. It was good to be among the things that smelled of Brianna, even if they also smelled of humans. This was her world. I basked in it. But with my first inhalation of breath I knew she was here, and I knew she was not alone. A surge of anger and disgust propelled me down the corridor. I mounted the stairs, I sought out her bedchamber, I flung open the door. Brianna's bed-a graceful sleigh style with many feather mattresses and coverings trimmed in Venetian lace-was situated adjacent to the window whose draperies had not been closed, and although the room was completely dark by ordinary standards, there was enough ambient light through that window to allow me to see perfectly. The naked human man was upon the bed, with Brianna astride him, his hands holding her hips and her back arched to better pleasure him, and herself. He was too intent on the sensation that consumed him to notice me as I paused in the doorway, arms crossed upon my chest, scowling at them. But Brianna had known, of course, the moment I entered her house, and now I think she put on a little show, mocking me. Her pretty b.r.e.a.s.t.s were upturned, her torso long and smooth, her red curls tangled around her shoulders and caught in places with the moisture of his kisses. She lifted her hair with both hands, showing her figure to its best advantage and allowing her curls to spill from her fingers like autumn leaves caught in a gentle breeze, and the human's hands caressed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s; then she followed their sliding pattern down her torso with her own fingers, a shadow dance of motion. Her hair swung forward as she leaned over him, her tongue flicking and circling over his face and his neck while her pelvis rocked rhythmically against his, and through the veil of tumbled curls she cut her eyes to me in triumph, and in daring. And so it was. I fed my savage nature by running in the snow and feeding on fresh kill; she satisfied the wildness in her by defiling herself with a human. This I understood. But understanding did not make it any the more acceptable. I let the door swing closed behind me as I strode over to the bed and s.n.a.t.c.hed her to her feet by her arm. The smell of human s.e.x and Brianna's own compelling musk a.s.saulted my nostrils; too much human, too little of Brianna. I was tormented, I was enraged, I was repulsed. And yet the combination of all these emotions barely mitigated the joy I felt for simply being in her presence, the great exultation of the discovery I had come to share with her. And it was only because of this that I was able to deal with the situation with such very great restraint. "Get dressed," I told the startled, gasping man she had earlier introduced to me as Walter. My tone was short, but otherwise polite. "And then kindly leave this house. I need to speak with Brianna alone, if you please." I glanced at Brianna and wrinkled my nose. "But not," I added, "until you've had a bath." Brianna jerked her arm away from my grip impatiently, and the human Walter scrambled among the bedclothes for his trousers- concerned first and foremost, as humans invariably are at such moments, with protecting his modesty. Brianna tossed her head, glaring at me. "What are you doing here, Matise?" "Saving you from further humiliating yourself, at the very least," I returned, and I made an angry gesture toward the human and the bed. "Is this the best you were born for? Have you no pride at all?" "I'll choose my companions without any help from you, Matise Devoncroix, as I have been doing for quite a few years now! How dare you talk to me like that! How dare you break into my house-" I gave a short, loud bark of laughter. "I wouldn't have to 'break in' as you so eloquently put it, if you didn't put locks on your doors. What has become of you, Brianna? Hiding behind locks, having s.e.x with"-I waved a dismissive hand toward the bed-"creatures like this-have you no pride at all?" Her eyes glittered dangerously in the dark, and she drew close to my mouth. "You," she said softly, "have blood on your breath." The smell and the noise of the fumbling human were making it hard for me to concentrate, and I had no more patience for Brianna's theatrics. She swept a filmy pink peignoir from the tangle of clothing on the floor, and as she slipped her arms into its sleeves I strode forward and picked her up bodily. She screeched and twisted, but I withstood her efforts. "Be still," I told her, and with a single mighty kick of my foot I knocked the closed door off its hinges, flat on the floor, and carried her through. I didn't think how this must have looked to the human. I didn't think about him at all. I took her to the cold dark library from which I had entered this house, because it was familiar to me and because it was far from the human. I set her on her feet and she pushed away from me with dark and glittering eyes. "You," she told me distinctly, "are a brute." I put my hands on her face, her hair curling around my fingers again, her breath brus.h.i.+ng against my skin again, her warmth seeping into my blood again-my breath quickened, my heart ached, for a moment I was unable to speak. I simply gazed at her, so full of possibility that all I could feel was awe. And she must have sensed it, she must have known something monumental was about to happen, or perhaps she was as affected by me as I was by her. She did not reprimand me again, and I felt her heart go heavy and slow. She drew in a soft breath, but did not release it at once. Waiting. I said, "Ah, Brianna, we have made a terrible mistake." I covered her mouth with mine and kissed her deeply, and she thrust her fingers into my hair and drank of me, and we were like drowning creatures gasping for air, filling each other with life giving force, taking it desperately, taking it greedily, this kiss, this touch, this blending of scents and tastes and thundering heartbeats. Then she twisted away from me with a wrenching force and she said in a hoa.r.s.e, ragged bubbling of words, one spilling atop the other with breathless intensity, "No, don't do this, Matise, it wasn't a mistake, you know it wasn't, oh please don't come back here and break my heart again, Matise, please don't!" "Ah, my love, my sweet girl." I kissed her throat and her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and she was trembling so; it made me weak to feel her tremble. I sank to my knees, my head pressed into her belly, my nostrils filled with the rich dark scent of her s.e.x, and even though it was mixed with human, even though human permeated every cell of her skin and hair, I didn't mind it so much now, because the scent of Brianna was that much sweeter. "I've come back for you, yes," I whispered. "I've come back."

I knew what I did to her. I could feel it in the heat of her skin, its sudden suppleness and glow; I could hear it in the rush of her blood and the stutter of her breath and the fine high singing of her quaking muscles, I could smell it and I could taste it. And when she said, low and shaking, "I shall hate you forever for this," I did not believe her, for every part of her except her lips told a story of adoration and need, and it filled me with soaring triumph. I lifted my face, I tilted back my head to look up at her. I said, "Imagine it, just think about it for a moment, just pretend-if I weren't your brother, would you hate me then? Or would you adore me with every beat of your heart, would you melt to my touch, would you weep for my kisses, would you want me for your lover? Would you, Brianna?" "You are a wretched creature!" She tore away from me, her face anguished. "Is this why you came here tonight? To mock me? To punish me for my enjoyment of humans, to make sure I never know a moment's peace from you? Why are you doing this to me?" I got to my feet. I blocked her exit from the room. I didn't touch her. I didn't have to. The fever in my eyes held her captive, the quickness of my breath, the roar of my pulses. "I am not your brother, Brianna," I said, pinning her in my gaze. "You are not my sister." The pain in her eyes slowly became mitigated with confusion, uncertainty. I said, quick and soft, "I've come to believe-something I've learned-Brianna, I'm sure of it, you were a foundling. Not of my parents' blood. When they went to Alaska, there was no pregnancy. Yet you appeared, without witness in the wilderness, and six months later I was born... Think of it, Brianna, think of it. It's the only thing that makes sense." But even before I finished speaking I saw the recoiling in her eyes, the draining away of blood from her lips. "And so," she said, with a forced steadiness that was denied by the roar of her pulses, "now I am denied not only the pack and my only love, but my parents as well. As you wish, Matise." She started to move past me, but I caught her arm. "No!" she shouted, and flung me away with such violence that I crashed into the desk and overturned a lamp. "No, I won't have it, do you hear? You will not come here and tell me your miracles and expect all to be well simply because you say it must! I have made my choice, Matise, don't you see that?" I was incredulous. "That weak-livered human with his bony limbs and dangling p.e.n.i.s-that is your choice?" "He loves me!" "What can a human know of love? He cannot even comprehend you! Brianna..." I approached her again, careful now because her heartbeat was skittering and her fists were clenched and I could smell the salt of her tears deep in her throat. I ached to hold her, to draw her against my chest and make all her pain go away and leave her for all time. But when I lifted my hand, the only thing I felt free to do was to touch her hair, very lightly, merely adoring it.

My throat was thick and my voice husky as I spoke. "Brianna. Long ago I promised you we would be together always. I know I've done my best to break that promise, but... I can't leave you. We've known it since we were children, this magic between us, this need to be together-and now, don't you see it's possible at last? Torment me if you will, chastise me and make me suffer, I deserve all of it and more-but, Brianna, don't deny us both what we were meant to be! If we are not truly brother and sister, then there is no shame in what we feel for one another. We're free to be together! How can you not celebrate that?" She lifted her hands and put them lightly over both of mine, bringing them down from her hair. But she did not let go. She held my hands, stilled and obedient to her touch, and she looked at me solemnly. "There was never any shame in it for me, Matise," she said. "So don't you see? For you, everything has changed; for me, nothing has. You are still werewolf, and I am still an anthropomorph. We can never mate. We have no life together." But oh, no, I would not accept this. To be so close and to have her s.n.a.t.c.hed away from me again... no. There was no room for this in my imagination. I said, "We'll leave for Dover now-we can be in Paris by the afternoon. We'll tell Papa everything. When you hear it from his own lips, Bri, you'll know the truth and he can help us. But if you continue with this human, if you go through with this mockery of a mating and make it public, the pack will turn its back on you well and true and there will be no one to help us, not ever!" She pulled her hands away, and the look in her eyes was despairing. Wordlessly, she tried to push past me. I caught her against me. "I won't let you do this." "Let me go!" She wrenched away, eyes blazing, blood hot. "I didn't ask you here, Matise-I didn't ask for any of this! I didn't leave because I wanted to, and you know that! I was driven out! I can't go back because there's nothing to go back to! This is all that is left to me, don't you understand that? Why must you torment me so?" A sound behind me caught my ear. It was such an unfamiliar sound that at first I didn't recognize it, didn't even turn around. Then the man Walter said, "Let her go." It was the very coldness of his voice that made me glance in his direction. He stood in the doorway, his stance relaxed yet oddly poised. His eyes were steady upon me, and in his hand he held a small revolver trained upon me. I looked from him to Brianna, incredulity and annoyance sharpening my tone. "This is what you would choose over me? A human with a gun?" She stared at me for one terrible moment, and then she broke away. Ah, it was so quick. And that is the way it always is with humans and their guns: so quick, so senseless, so impossible to predict or to recall. Brianna went to Walter, I think to wrench the gun from him. I lunged for Brianna in anger and impulse, just to stop her from going near the creature; just to stop her. The gunshot clapped in my ears and the impact of the bullet caused me to stagger, but it was not until a moment later, not until I smelled the hot scent of my own blood and looked down, in some surprise, to see the blossom of red upon the white linen that covered my shoulder, that I realized I had been struck. Brianna gave a cry and tore the gun from the human's hand and tossed it aside, and she made to rush for me and he caught her back and that is all I recall as the fireball of agony spread from my shoulder down my arm and into my fingers, seizing my spinal cord, inflaming my brain. I tore at my clothes, I threw back my head, I let the Pa.s.sion take me. And when I regained myself I was deep into instinct, for although the wound was not serious, the pain was great and my senses were confused by it. The room, the night, the smells, none were familiar to me. The hot traces of cordite lingered in the air and reminded me of terror and hatred. Only Brianna, only the scent of Brianna, made sense to me. And when I staggered around to look for her, I heard the sounds of struggle and I heard her shout, "Walter, no!" and I smelled the smell of human terror and deadly intent and I saw Brianna holding his arms, trying to keep him from reaching the gun she had discarded. I sprang for him. I couldn't stop myself. I was inflamed with pain and the room stank of guns and danger, I saw Brianna struggling and I smelled fear and anger, and an instinct stronger than reason rose to protect her. How could I know, considering the state I was in then, that the human wanted only to protect her from me? But I tell you this, and it is a truth I have held close in a tight secret knot of shame, locked deep inside an unbreachable part of myself, for all of my life. I leapt upon the human, I flung him to the ground, I dug my claws into his flesh and my teeth into his throat and I tasted his blood, I tasted it hot and thick as it spurted into my mouth, and I liked it, I tell you, I loved it. I felt his struggles, the ineffectual clawings and kickings, and I was filled with satisfaction, oh, yes, a satisfaction that resonated deep within the core of me with an almost o.r.g.a.s.mic thrill, to feel those struggles weaken, and then cease. For this is the truth of it, my friend, the heavy and unshakable truth: the taste of human blood is good. The fever of the kill is ecstasy. But then I felt something else. Through a fog, distant and vague, I heard a voice that was familiar to me, I felt fingers digging into my fur; words began to form, wild and ragged, in my ears: "Matise, don't; stop, please, you're killing him, you are killing him!" It was Brianna. Brianna, flung full-body atop me, pulling at me, trying to save the life of her human... trying to save me. I unclenched the muscles of my jaw, withdrew my teeth from succulent flesh. Trembling convulsively, quaking to the very root of my being, I backed away. And when my vision cleared, what I saw was Brianna covered in blood, kneeling on the floor beside her human, sobbing in great gasping breaths, trying to wad the flimsy fabric of her peignoir against one of the many wounds upon that poor frail body, trying to stop the flow of blood. "Alive," I heard her whisper.

"Yes, alive, Walter, hold on, you're alive..." I was dazed, reeling, still drunk from the combat and weak from the stress of my own injury. It seemed like a dream to me. No, a nightmare. The kind from which you never wake up. And then she looked at me, her face twisted with anguish; she held out her wet red hands. Kneeling there over the torn and broken body of her human lover, she pleaded, "Help me. Matise, please help me..." I heard the human's beating heart, his weak ragged breath; I heard my beloved's plea and smelled the desperation on her, and oh, how n.o.ble I would be to say that in that instant, reason returned and I was filled with horror for what I had done. I was quaking, yes, but it was with a great and powerful need, for every muscle in my body, every cell and fiber and neuron within me wanted nothing more than to leap for the human again, to take his neck between my jaws and feel it snap. There was no n.o.ble creature of reason within me then. I was a killer, and I loved myself for it. I crouched low. I felt the growl rumble through my throat. My muscles tensed to spring and nothing could have stopped me, nothing would have stopped me. But Brianna smelled my intent. I saw it flash in her eyes in that moment, that split second before I leapt to finish off my prey-horror, and fear. My Brianna was afraid of me. She flung herself over her lover to protect him from me, but there was no need. I backed away, heart pounding, dry-mouthed, so awash with shock that the Change back into human form was almost involuntary. I sank to my knees, gasping and weak, but as soon as my voice returned I managed to say, "Freda-call her on the telephone. She knows about human physiology. She can help him. Hurry!" Brianna got to her feet and ran to the telephone. I went over to the human and did what I could to stop the bleeding, then I lifted him in my arms and carried him upstairs. x.x.xII Looking back over those last words, I wonder even now why I bothered to write them down. Do I try to portray myself in a heroic light, or to convince you-or myself-of a lack of culpability? I hope not. Because if I can do such a thing now, it makes all that I suffered before meaningless. I therefore report the remainder of this episode in as factual a manner as I am able. It does me no credit to relate that, near fainting with the great expenditure of energy demanded by my wound and two Changes in quick succession, I left the human where I dropped him on the bed and staggered to the kitchen, where I gorged myself on whatever I could find there. I tore at the larder doors, sank my teeth into a side of bacon without bothering to remove the cotton bag it was hung in; I dug into a wheel of cheese with my fingers and consumed two loaves of bread and a pie without tasting them. I made my way to the icebox and drank a bottle of milk in a single swallow, licked the b.u.t.ter dish clean, consumed the remains of the previous night's dinner and a half-dozen eggs, raw. By the time my head had cleared enough for me to recognize my surroundings, Freda was in the house. I dressed, although my s.h.i.+rt was shredded beyond repair. I put on the human's s.h.i.+rt, and hardly noticed the smell for the taste of anxiety that was swelling in my throat and dampening even the edge of my hunger. I went to Brianna. Brianna had washed and changed into a clean garment, and had tied back her hair. But she had blood under her fingernails. I recall the smell of it, mixed with the clean silk smell of her clothes and the cold fearful smell of her skin. She looked at me when I came up the carpeted stairs and into the small corridor where she sat outside the bedroom. There is a special communication we are supposed to know only in wolf form, but our eyes met, and everything that must be said was said. Words, after that, would have seemed irrelevant. I sat beside her on the small silk-covered couch outside the bedroom where the human lay bleeding from wounds I had inflicted. We listened, the two of us, to the sounds Freda made behind the closed door of the bedroom, but neither of us suggested going in. We listened to the sound of the human's heartbeat, to the uncertain rhythm of his breathing, to the click of broken bones being snapped into place. And then, without any warning at all, we heard the human's heart stop beating. Ah, that I had words to describe that moment. And if I could but give my own life that you may never know it. It was as though all life-not just the human's-stopped at the moment when he ceased to be, as though each solitary molecule, each atom and thought of an atom, was flash-frozen for an instant of intense, super attenuated existence, poised on the threshold of eternal magnificence, yet... stopped. Inert. Lifeless after all. A clock chimed downstairs: a single loud, reverberating note, frozen. Brianna took a breath, and was still. The pattern of the wallpaper was suddenly brilliantly clear in every etched detail and satin furbelow; the wood grain of the floor revealed a hundred thousand footfalls that had gone before and had left their marks; the tapestry upon which we sat was exposed in every intricate detail as though the lifeblood of those who had sewn it suddenly infused their labor with a preternatural light-brilliant, but frozen. The smell of Brianna, sweet and clean, and the blood under her fingernails. The smell of death and drugs and human blood. The cold stale smell of my own sweat. Each fragment of perfume throbbed like a living thing-but it too was frozen in time. And in the midst of this miasma of lifeless intensity I swam, disoriented, icy, helpless. This is death. This is what I had done. The door opened and closed again softly. Freda had blood on her hands and death on her skin. Her eyes were quiet, her tone composed. She looked at Brianna. "His spine was crushed, Bri," she said gently. "He was really quite beyond repair. We'll have to call the human authorities now, for the death certificate." She glanced at me. "You'd better leave, Matise. There will be an inquiry. A gun discharged and the police will come. We can tell them some tale of an intruder, I suppose. But it would be more credible if you were no