by Laura Taylor
And then, years later, when she’d thought there was nothing left that he could do to her, nothing left that he could take from her, he’d killed her mother. Or at least, she believed he had. Andre was keeping in mind the pertinent fact that the police had found no clear evidence of his involvement in the murder, and so the true events of that night remained uncertain.
But Andre’s job in all this was to convince Caroline that killing her father was neither a necessary or nor a viable option, that clinging to family bonds was inappropriate, and he was to somehow come out the end of it all with firm assurances that Caroline would never again feel tempted to betray her pack and put her species at risk, whether for familial ties or for personal revenge.
How the hell was he supposed to do that, when he could empathise far too strongly with her, the rage, the helplessness, the overwhelming sense of injustice about it all.
Eleanor had done well, he had to admit, with no shortage of irony. He and Caroline had far more in common than he had realised, both of them losing parents to a force of evil, and both of them bent on revenge, and he could see no clear path out of their current conundrum. Evil had been done. Justice was required. How did one just walk away from that?
He was tempted to call an end to the session for today, needing time and space to get his own thoughts in order before he continued trying to muddle through hers. But just as he was about to speak, Caroline beat him to it.
“It’s not like I would have gone with her anyway,” she murmured, almost to herself.
“What do you mean?” Andre asked, feeling exhausted and wrung out from the dark memories the conversation was bringing up.
Caroline looked up at him, a bleak despair in her eyes. “I was waiting… I was hoping she’d come back one day. I always thought… When she left, I thought she must have decided I was as worthless as my father. I couldn’t think of any other reason why she wouldn’t have taken me with her. There are plenty of reasons, I suppose, but I couldn’t see them at the time. So for all these years, I’ve been hoping she’d come back, and tell me she was sorry, that she wanted me to leave that hell hole and go and live with her. And when I went to my father’s house… I thought that was why she’d been there. She’d come back for me. And he’d taken that away from me, the last, final chance to know that she’d thought I was worth something.
“But what would I have said, even if I’d had the chance to speak to her face-to-face? I have – had – the Den,” she went on, correcting herself as she recalled that she might have lost even that part of her life, now that she’d betrayed them in such a reckless manner. “I’ve spent two years being trained for a covert war. I have new friends. I’ve cut all ties to any life I had before. So what the fuck did I think I was going to say? ‘Hey, mum, great to see you again after all this time, but you’re a couple of years too late, so how about you just fuck off again?’ Jesus…”
It seemed she was feeling as wrung out as Andre was, and he searched for something intelligent to say. “Just because you couldn’t go with her doesn’t mean you didn’t love her. Or that you didn’t want that final validation of yourself. Regardless of the circumstances, your emotions about the whole thing are still important.”
“True,” Caroline agreed. “And I’m still furious. I feel hurt, and betrayed, and unbelievably angry. Not just at my father, but at my mother as well. But I also… It’s like what you said yesterday. Even before Kendrick found me, I’d already moved on. I’d left that house, mentally, if not physically. I’d got a job and was looking for a place to live and I had plans…” She peered up at him, looking tired, and world-weary, and yet there was an odd spark of something else. Joy, maybe? Peace? Or a kind of freedom that Andre couldn’t quite understand. “I can grieve for everything I’ve lost, and everything I never had in the first place. But it’s also time I let it go. I don’t want to let him keep controlling me for the rest of my life. I’ve moved on. I just… It would have been nice to know, in the end.”
“To know what?”
“Whether she really loved me.”
That was something Andre understood. For all her bravado and fiery attitude, he’d known for some time that there was still a small, childlike part of Caroline that just wanted someone to tell her she was deserving of praise. “Do you think your Den loves you?” he asked simply.
“I don’t know. I haven’t exactly made life easy for them.”
“Then let me tell you this: The usual protocol for someone who had done what you did would have been to put them down. But after you ran away from him, Kendrick spent no less than three hours on the phone, trying to convince the Council to give you a second chance. Why would he do that if he didn’t care about you?”
Caroline tried to smile. The expression came out wobbly as sudden, hot tears slid down her cheeks. “He really did that?”
“He really did.”
“Wow.” She wiped her eyes, sitting quietly as she gazed off into the garden, lost in thought.
Andre tried not to stare at her, while her attention was elsewhere, and completely and utterly failed. In the last few days, along with his own growing disquiet about his parents’ deaths, he’d also been having to deal with the slow realisation that he was finding it harder and harder to maintain a professional distance in his feelings towards her. When they had first met, Andre had thought she was the total opposite of himself in every way, impulsive where he was thoughtful, brash were he was painstakingly polite, derisive where he aimed for empathy. But he had slowly come to realise that Eleanor’s prediction was true – they were far more alike than he could ever have expected.
And as he watched her, he finally managed to admit to himself the thing that was causing him the most discomfort.
She was… beautiful. Wild black hair that emphasised her eyes. High cheek bones that gave her a look of unexpected elegance. Lips that were thin, but expressive, always ready to tighten in displeasure, or quirk upwards in a smile that she was trying to hide.
She was, in a word, captivating.
And she was completely and absolutely off limits.
“Can we call it a day?” she asked suddenly, jerking Andre out of his illicit thoughts. “I’m exhausted.”
Andre felt just as tired as Caroline seemed to be, and he was more than happy to end the session. “Get some rest,” he said, closing his notebook and standing up. “I’ll see you again tomorrow.”
“How is the young lady doing?” Eleanor asked Andre later, after dinner was finished and the villa was quiet.
“Very well,” he replied, feeling more together now, after an hour of meditation and a stern review of his own emotions. “She’s still got a way to go to understand everything she’s been through, but we’re slowly working towards the point where she can let go of the past and move forward.” Andre didn’t fool himself into believing that today’s session was the end of it. Caroline would come back with doubts, with questions, with a justifiable anger. But today she’d seen life from a different perspective, which was a huge step forward in his efforts to help her deal with her past.
“Good news indeed.” Eleanor looked at him speculatively. “And what have you learned about yourself in the process?”
Andre closed his eyes and sighed, immediately seeing where she was going with this. “You knew exactly what you were doing when you put me with Caroline.”
“That I did,” Eleanor admitted easily. “You didn’t think it had escaped our attention that you chose to become an assassin immediately after your parents were killed? So let me ask you this: How many Noturatii members do you need to kill in order to avenge your parents?”
“A few weeks ago, I would have said all of them,” he admitted quietly, feeling the swell of emotion he’d felt that afternoon come rushing back.
“An impossible quest,” Eleanor observed, knowing that Andre had already realised that. “And one that would slowly eat away at you, as each kill served as a reminder of how far away from your goal you were. So what would your answer be now?”
/>
Andre stared at the floor, not quite able to meet her eyes. “None.”
Eleanor reached out, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. “So now you understand,” she said softly, “why Caroline was assigned to you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Present Day
With the shifters once more gathered in the manor’s main hall, Baron nodded to Nikolai, having just invited him to address the meeting. He’d pulled Baron aside earlier, saying he had a matter of great importance to discuss with everyone, though he’d refused to specify exactly what it was all about.
“I bring news,” Nikolai said, regarding the room with a serious expression, “of an issue that is of great interest to our species. I have discussed this with the Council, and they have asked that I share the news with you. Earlier this year, I needed to travel to China with three others from my Den. The reason for our visit is not important now, but the result of it was quite startling.
“As many of you know, we are not the only shifter species on the planet. In particular, the Asian continent is home to the leopard shifters. They are becoming more reclusive, retreating into the mountains as the human population grows and their habitat is reduced. For centuries, we have known of their existence, but they have kept to their territory, and we have kept to ours. So our knowledge of the leopards has declined, I would argue to our detriment. But on my trip to China, I had an unexpected encounter with one of these cats.”
The room, up until now, had been silent, but at this last statement, a collective gasp filled the room. The leopards hadn’t been seen or heard from in decades, and their sudden reappearance was more than a little startling.
“They have their own enemies,” Nikolai went on. “Not as extensive as the Noturatii, but a threat to them nonetheless. I assisted this cat with an incident involving her enemy, and in return, I was given a small amount of information on their situation.
“Years ago, decades, maybe even centuries ago, all of the cat shifters were leopards. And it was believed that this was still the case. However, during my visit, I witnessed this woman shift. And I was greatly shocked to see that she had become not a leopard, but a lynx.”
A wave of muttering filled the room. But Nikolai wasn’t done yet.
“We discussed our respective species briefly, and it seems that the cat shifters have achieved the impossible. This woman also reported that the cats now include not just lynxes, but clouded leopards, snow leopards, fishing cats. They have discovered a way to cross the species barrier – not once, but multiple times.”
Baron was absolutely staggered by the news, his mind racing as cries of alarm and a volley of questions filled the room. For the shifters to cross species was thought to be impossible – indeed, the wolves themselves had tried it in the past. Their tests with coyotes had been a failure, with the new shifters unable to convert other humans. Attempts to convert other subspecies of wolf had been mildly more successful, with the converts able to turn new humans, but still ultimately a failure, as their progeny had reverted to the usual grey wolf form after a single generation.
“How did they do it?” Baron asked, equal parts concerned and fascinated, raising his voice to be heard above the din.
“I didn’t get the chance to ask,” Nikolai said apologetically, “and I doubt she would have told me if I had. The Council is discussing plans to form alliances with the cats. But they are exceptionally cautious of us, due to the dangers of the Noturatii – it amazes me that our enemies know nothing of the cats, or any other shifter species, but understandably, the Asian shifters would like to keep it that way. And they guard their territory closely. We would need to offer something of significant value to them, if they were ever to take an interest in an alliance.”
More questions followed, Nikolai doing his best to answer each of them, with his limited information on the subject, but Baron’s mind was in turmoil as the conversation continued around him.
Shifters jumping species. It was unheard of, the magic simply not able to make the transition successfully. There had been other species of shifter in the world, of course, the magic by no means limited to wolves alone. The bears were now confirmed to be extinct – they had fallen victim to the witch hunts of the middle ages, unable to rally together as the wolves had done. And in North America, rumours still persisted of another species, no one quite willing to believe the stories, as tales continued to be told of a type of shifter magic that defied all natural laws, a magic so powerful it made the wolves’ own abilities look like they were nothing more than children stumbling about in the dark.
Skip felt a wave of trepidation as she walked down the hall towards the room where she was to run the hacking workshop. Up until a few days ago, she’d been looking forward to it, eager to spend a few days discussing the intricacies of computers in a way that she never had the chance to at home.
But then there had been that horrible incident with the Russians, and after that, she’d checked the list of attendees for her seminar, and her heart had sunk as she’d realised that one of the rude Russians was going to be among them – not as a student, but as a translator. She’d been dreading it ever since.
But as Skip reached the door to the meeting room, she was startled to find someone else waiting for her. John pushed off the wall, where he had been leaning with his arms folded, and looked her up and down. “How’d you like me to sit in with you?” he asked, a scowl on his face, and most people might have taken his offer the wrong way, a concession to her weakness, perhaps, or a grudging fulfilment of an order from higher up the chain of command.
But Skip and John had a close bond that frequently surprised those not familiar with their respective pasts. They’d both endured exceptionally brutal childhoods, had both been rescued by the Den, not just physically, but also from their own mental hell, and thanks to Heron’s innate mothering skills, the pair of them had become as close as brother and sister – a most unlikely pairing, to be sure, but as a result, John was one of the few people Skip trusted completely, and she was one of the few people who could truly say they understood him.
Skip broke into a bashful smile, clutching her notebooks and clipboard tightly. “I’d appreciate it,” she said, knowing that John would see no weakness in the admission of the need for help.
Inside the room, the others were already waiting for her. There were four of them, including a woman from Russia who was to be Skip’s trainee, and the infamous young man who had given her such a hard time. And apparently he still needed a few lessons in manners. He looked her up and down, clearly unimpressed… and then did a double take when Skip took her seat at the main desk where three laptops were set up.
“You’re our teacher?” he asked in surprise.
Skip didn’t get the chance to reply. John stepped forward with a clear growl. “You watch yourself,” he warned the man sharply.
Taking John at face value – none too impressive in human form – the Russian sneered. “And who are you?”
“I’m John,” John said simply. The man looked momentarily confused, until something about the name suddenly registered, and his face paled.
“You mean… the John? Baron’s John?”
“That’s the one,” John said, not sounding at all surprised that his reputation had preceded him.
“Ah.” The man couldn’t seem to decide whether to be impressed or terrified. He looked from John, to Skip and back… then sat down and shut his mouth.
In one of the rare moments of free time throughout the Densmeet, Andre found himself at a loose end, and so, hearing that the Russians had brought with them a rare and ancient text on shifter history, he headed for the room that was serving as a makeshift library.
But when he opened the door, he realised he was not the first one to have the idea. Caleb was already sitting at one of the desks, a thick book open in front of him, a notepad to one side in which he was jotting down the odd phrase.
He looked up as Andre came in, and immediately asked, “Do you speak
any of the old language?”
“Some,” Andre replied. He would have liked to learn more, but when he’d chosen to become an assassin, his studies into the intricacies of the language had stopped, leaving him with only basic lessons in the more common texts. “What are you looking at?”
“The prophecy of Negur Ulis. The Black Wolf.”
Andre’s eyebrows rose in surprise. It was an obscure myth, even the best historians unable to quite agree on what it meant, and he was surprised that Caleb would take an interest in it.
“The story always fascinated me,” Caleb explained, “but I’ve never been able to get a good translation of it. And since Marianne brought the volume in its original language, I thought I would take a look.”
“You read the old language?” Andre asked, surprised yet again. He’d known that Caleb knew a certain amount of it, but hadn’t realised he was fluent enough to translate a text from scratch. He pulled up a chair and sat down beside him, peering at the book over his shoulder.
“Bits of it,” Caleb admitted with a frustrated sigh. “But there are a few passages I can’t figure out. Nor can anyone else, I guess,” he said wryly, “which is why there hasn’t been a decent translation yet.”
“What are you stuck on?”
“This word,” Caleb said, pointing, “and this one. Vortos usually means enemy, or threat, but if that’s true, then this sentence seems to say that the Black Wolf is both our enemy and our ally. Or am I mistranslating symuznyk?”
“This doesn’t say symuznyk,” Andre replied. “The characters are similar, but there’s a missing accent here, and an extra vowel here,” he explained. The text of the old language was unique, containing elements of the Latin script, but also characters with a similarity to Greek and the Cyrillic script from eastern Europe. “The word is symuchnek, which-”
The pair of them were interrupted suddenly as Nikolai flung the door open, pulling up short when he saw them both.