by Amy Pennza
She shifted in her seat. “You mean the other trainees.”
He nodded. “They still won’t accept you, despite you making the Turn.”
Her humor drained away. It should be enough—making the Turn after an adolescence thinking she was doomed to latency. Such a thing shouldn’t have even been possible. For almost all of werewolf history, it hadn’t been. Then Lizette had come along. For years, everyone assumed she was a Healer. It was a useful Gift, and Healers were revered in every territory.
But Lizette had a second Gift—one that was so incredibly rare most wolves had never heard of it. She was a Bloodsinger, which meant she was capable of pulling a latent wolf’s beast forward enough to force the Turn. In fact, Haley had been her first “test case.” Although Lizette was a few years older, they’d become friends when Lizette moved to New York from California as a teen. Both orphaned at a young age, they formed an instant bond that had remained strong even after Lizette left the Lodge to attend college. It was during a long weekend visit at Lizette’s apartment that Haley had Turned.
At the time, everyone thought it was just a lucky coincidence. But Max had known the truth. The New York Territory was already famous for its high rate of Turned latents. After Haley, he realized it wasn’t just coincidence.
It was Lizette.
Haley looked at Max now. “I should be grateful. Not every latent gets a chance to make the Turn.”
His voice was soft. “No. But werewolves expect more.” He let out a sigh heavy with frustration. “Our birth rates continue to plummet, yet wolves still insist on matching their children to mates with superior Gifts.” The last was said with a snarl.
She gave a sigh of her own. “Yeah, well, I’d settle for an inferior Gift. As far as I know, I’m the only wolf in existence who doesn’t have one.”
And that automatically crossed her off any enterprising werewolf mama’s matchmaking list. Wolves valued the Gifts that made them dominant fighters—things like enhanced speed, hearing, or vision. Healers were okay in a pinch, but non-physical Gifts like Telepathy were undesirable.
And not having a Gift at all? Forget about it.
Max turned his head a little and nodded toward the letter on his desk. “Not everyone cares about that.”
Haley followed the direction of his gaze. “I don’t get it. She wants me to marry her son? Arranged marriages are sort of nineteenth century, don’t you think?”
He smiled. “Not in werewolf culture, they’re not. But she’s not asking for a wedding. She just wants you to visit.”
“And meet her son.”
“That’s right. Maybe go on a date or two. You’ll stay a month and then return home. Think of it like a vacation.”
Well, that didn’t sound so bad. Haley nibbled her bottom lip. “You said he’s a former trainee. Would I know him?”
Max shook his head. “I doubt it. He Turned four years ago, which was before you started training. Benjamin Rupert. Does that ring a bell?”
She searched her memory and came up short. “No. Do you remember him?”
“Vaguely. As you know, we accept trainees from all over.”
That was an understatement. The New York Territory was a revolving door for latents who hoped to Turn. Max believed everyone deserved a chance, so he was generous when it came to fostering young people from other territories. The Lodge was supposed to be a family residence, but the constant influx of trainees made it more like a cross between a frat house and a military academy.
In other words, it should have been the perfect place to find a date.
Should have been. As Max said, werewolf parents didn’t seem overly concerned about the species’ declining population. They just wanted their precious angels to marry someone with good genes.
Defeat coursed through Haley. She’d endured years of scorn at the Lodge, which was probably the most inclusive territory in the country. Why would she travel all the way to Washington for more of the same?
She licked her lips. “Why me? I mean, there are other latent females who’ve made the Turn.” Was there something wrong with this guy that his mommy had to write letters angling for dates?
“It’s a good question,” Max said, rising and circling his desk. He pointed at the huge map that hung on the wall behind it. Hand-drawn on parchment, it predated the U.S. Constitution by fifty years. Humans would recognize the general outline of North America, and some of the state boundaries were roughly the same. But the similarities ended there. For one thing, there were sixty territories instead of fifty states. The biggest difference, though, was the lack of a border between the United States and Canada. In the werewolf world, that line didn’t exist. It was the reason Max’s territory spanned both New York and Quebec.
He walked from one edge of the map to the other, drawing an imaginary line from the North Atlantic to the Pacific Northwest. “This is the Washington Territory.” He made a circling motion around the squarish shape of the human state. Then he drew another line upward, landing on a spot near the coast. “This is Vancouver.” He looked at her over his shoulder. “British Columbia. That’s in Canada.”
“Yes, I know.” Good grief, she wasn’t that bad at school stuff.
He faced her. “How much do you know about the Washington Territory?”
Uh . . . The question tumbled around her mind. Living her whole life on the East coast, she hadn’t given it much thought. “It rains a lot?”
Max didn’t smile. Instead, he looked at the map, his face thoughtful in profile. “It’s the most sparsely populated territory in the New World. Only Europe has fewer wolves.”
That didn’t mean much. Like every other wolf forced to sit through lectures about werewolf lore, she knew the story of how the European wolves had battled and bickered themselves to the brink of extinction. It was the reason the survivors who crossed the Atlantic centuries ago had vowed not to repeat the same mistakes. Each Alpha picked a Beta—an advisor and confidante who was supposed to check their worst impulses and help them rule. They also surrounded themselves with Hunters who patrolled the territory so the Alpha was free to look after his people rather than defend his borders.
It worked. Most of the time.
Max went on. “Birth rates are down in every territory, but no part of the country has numbers as dismal as Washington. There hasn’t been a birth or a mating in over ten years.”
She looked at the map. “No matings?”
“None,” he said, his tone grim. He turned and settled behind his desk once more, then propped an elbow on one of the arms and rested his chin in his hand, his gaze almost . . . troubled.
But it was more than that. For the first time Haley could remember, he looked older. Careworn. Tired.
On impulse, she leaned forward and said, “It really bothers you, doesn’t it? The population problem.”
If he was surprised by her candor, he didn’t show it. “Yes,” he said simply. He hesitated, then added, “But what bothers me more is I seem to be the only Alpha trying to do something about it.”
“Like talking to the witches.”
“Witchborn,” he corrected. “They’re careful to make that distinction, considering most witches call them an abomination and want them dead.”
Ouch. “That’s not very family friendly of them.” She still had a hard time wrapping her head around the idea of “witchborn wolves.” In her defense, no one had known of their existence until three years ago. Apparently, the witch covens were even more maniacal than werewolves about keeping their bloodlines pure. Only the leaders of the great magical houses could approve a match, and they rarely allowed witches to marry for love.
But that hadn’t stopped their members from finding romance. In some cases, they’d found it with werewolves, resulting in hybrid offspring with interesting powers. For reasons Haley wasn’t privy to, the witchborn had appointed their de facto leader—a mysterious wolf named Damian Blackwood—to approach Max and orchestrate a “coming out” process for the witchborn.
/> She’d met Damian a handful of times over the past three years. He’d seemed nice enough—until she saw him pin a subordinate to the wall with nothing more than the flick of a finger.
Max offered her a tight smile. “Family ties don’t matter to the magical houses. Witches are ruthless. They only care about blood when it can bring them power. Most only have children to solidify alliances.”
Haley’s stomach lurched. “How can they use their own children in such a despicable way?”
“No idea. But my guess is they might see things differently if confronted by the same fertility issues we face. Fortunately, the witchborn seem immune to our struggles in that area.”
“Which is why you’re talking with them.” It was just a guess, but it made sense. He’d been conducting not-so-secret meetings with Damian for close to two years. Rumor had it the witchborn were capable of producing multiple children. Max claimed the witches were ruthless, but so was he—possibly even more so.
He was up to something. She could sense it.
In response, he gave her another enigmatic smile. “We all have to do our part.”
Huh. That was a non-answer if ever she’d heard one. Her gaze fell on the letter he’d left on the desk. “Including me?” An uncomfortable thought jumped into her brain. Was this his way of getting an undesirable wolf off his hands? By unloading her onto a territory desperate for new members?
“If it’s what you want,” he said. “There’s no harm in meeting new people. And if you and this wolf hit it off, I think we’d all welcome the possibility of a mating and, eventually, a child.”
The uncomfortable feeling grew. She dared to meet his gaze—and hold it. “I don’t like the idea of being a brood mare.”
He gave her a mild look. “No one is suggesting you become one. You know as well as I do how important it is to be certain about a potential mate. Forever is a long time, Haley.”
How many times had she heard that? It was a favorite saying among werewolf parents—and foster parents. Unlike their human counterparts, they encouraged their children to “play the field” before settling down. And it wasn’t a euphemism. On the contrary, they wanted their kids to hop in and out of beds. To an outsider, it might seem like irresponsible advice.
To a wolf, however, it made total sense. Because marriage among werewolves was a metaphysical affair. When wolves spoke of matings being “forever” they meant it. The species wasn’t immortal—although that would have been cool—but they lived longer than humans, with most wolves making it to around a hundred and thirty. As a bonus, they spent the majority of those years healthy and youthful-looking. The theory went that the sacred mating bond was behind this genetic advantage. Known as the lux catena, it literally meant “chain of light.” And while it wasn’t a literal chain, it nevertheless bound one mate’s life to the other. If one died, the other followed.
She understood that better than most.
There was no divorce among werewolves. Once you were bound, you were bound for life. Literally. So it made sense that nature froze wolves at their most attractive, thereby reducing any temptation to stray. The mating bond did its part, too. Every mated wolf Haley had ever talked to said the lux catena created an unbreakable connection. Love could be part of the equation, but it didn’t have to be. The magic in the chain didn’t care about that. It just made sure they could never betray each other.
It was hard to imagine such a powerful connection.
On some level, it was also frightening.
She looked at the letter again. “So there’s no pressure with this? If I don’t like him I—”
“You come back home.” Max leaned forward a little in his chair. “You always have a home here, ma belle.”
Did he know how much she needed to hear that? Stupid tears rushed into her eyes, and she lowered her gaze so he wouldn’t see them. She had more to be thankful for than most orphans. Her foster parents loved her and had raised her as their own.
Still, she’d never felt like she truly belonged anywhere.
But maybe she just hadn’t found the right place.
She lifted her head and looked at the jagged coastline Max had pointed to on the map. “Why no matings? In Washington, I mean.” Sure, wolves couldn’t do much about their fertility problems, but people still wanted to get married, didn’t they? For most, the urge to find a mate was overwhelming.
Yet another “present” from Mother Nature.
Max made a soft sound that drew her attention. “The truth is, no one knows.” He shrugged—a Gallic gesture that was pure Québécois. “As a territory, it’s extremely isolated. The wolves there live in a mountain community. It’s beautiful, but I can see how a young person would want to leave.”
She gestured toward the windows and the forest outside. “Most wolves prefer isolation. It’s not like we’re city dwellers around here.”
He smiled. “You’ve obviously never been to the Cascades. There’s isolation, and then there’s isolation. From what I’ve heard, most of the younger Washington wolves choose to move to other territories. Those that will have them, that is.”
Easier said than done, she knew. Werewolves were jealous of their borders—and even more so about their bloodlines. If this Benjamin Rupert was a former latent, he was unlikely to find a territory willing to welcome him. He might be Turned now, but the so-called pure-blooded wolves would always treat him like a second class citizen.
Sympathy sparked in her chest. If she ever had a son, and that son was a latent, would she do everything in her power to make him happy? Even write a letter asking an Alpha to send him a prospective mate?
Yes. Yes, she would.
She let her gaze wander over the ragged Pacific coastline. “If I did this, where would I stay?”
“There’s a small bed and breakfast in town.”
“You’d expect me to stay with humans?”
He made a negative sound. “Elder Lake doesn’t have any humans. All the residents are wolves. Well, wolves and horses.”
She jerked her eyes to his. “Horses?”
A small smile played around his mouth. “The seat of the Washington Territory has more wild horses than werewolves.”
“Wild horses?”
“I’ve been told it’s the only herd in the Canadian Cascades.”
“When do I leave?”
He laughed but put up a hand. “I can’t guarantee you’ll get an opportunity to see them—or even get near them. Don’t forget, you’re a Turned wolf now. Most animals loathe us.”
“That’s a chance I’ll take.”
“You might have to spend your birthday away from home.”
She waved a hand. “I’m not worried about it.” Her party plans were a bust, anyway.
He studied her for a second. Then he gave a nod. “D'accord.” Okay. “I’ll have Remy book a flight.”
She jumped up. There was so much to do—packing and shopping. Definitely shopping. Upstate New York was cold, but it wasn’t the Cascades.
The Cascades with wild freaking ponies to love. She’d go on a date or two, whatever. But she was most definitely going to see those horses.
She whirled and headed for the door, her head spinning with tasks she needed to accomplish before she left for her mountain adventure.
“Haley.”
Max’s voice stopped her. Crap. She’d just turned her back on the Alpha without being dismissed.
She spun around. “Sorry. I was just—”
“Pas de problème.” No worries. He’d stood, and now he circled the desk and stopped in front of it. “There’s just one last thing.”
“Yes?” She forced herself to stand still, even as every part of her wanted to bolt out the door, drive into town, and load up on ski jackets and hiking boots.
Max cleared his throat. “The Washington Alpha. He’s not exactly . . .”
She tilted her head. It wasn’t like Max to be at a loss for words. “What is it?”
“He’s not the warm and fuzzy t
ype.”
A chuckle escaped her before she could stop it. “No offense, Max, but I’ve yet to meet an Alpha who is.”
That got a faint smile out of him. But then his eyes turned serious. “Bard Bennett has experienced hardships in life. Just be careful around him. Stay courteous and respectful.”
Good grief. He made it sound like she planned on acting rude or obnoxious. She opened her mouth, but he lifted a hand.
“I phrased that wrong.” He smiled. “I know you’ll mind your manners. Anyway, you probably won’t see him much.”
Probably not. Most Alphas were too busy to play host to visitors. She might meet him, but she was unlikely to do more than shake his hand.
Max looked at his watch. “It’s still early yet. If you leave now, you can probably hit the stores before they close.”
Casual. Act casual. “Yeah, I could probably use a few things.”
His raised eyebrow let her know he wasn’t fooled for a second. “Go ahead and use the pack credit card.”
“Really?”
“My treat. Just spend judiciously.”
She straightened her shoulders. “I’ll be a model of judicious spending.”
“Mmmhmm.” He turned and headed behind his desk.
Dismissed, she made a beeline for the doors, visions of cute ski gear spinning through her head.
And if she worried about Max’s puzzling warning about the Washington Alpha—or how his smile hadn’t quite reached his eyes when he spoke of Bard Bennett—well, she was just nervous about the trip. Who wouldn’t be? She was traveling three thousand miles for a blind date.
As she hit the hallway and headed for the stairs, she shoved her misgivings aside.
Washington meant mountains and horses and maybe even romance. Plus, her birthday was coming up.
Oh yeah, this was going to be the best birthday ever.
3
So much for a welcoming committee.
Haley huddled inside the airport’s lone hangar and watched through the frost-covered window as the pilot worked outside. Errant snowflakes whirled around him, and a dusting of snow covered the ground. Lit by the smattering of lights from the modest runway, he tossed what looked like a giant plastic blanket over the two-seater plane. A few hours earlier, he’d fetched her from the baggage claim area in the Sea-Tac Airport after her commercial flight from New York. It hadn’t been hard to spot him among the throng of humans.