Dire Wolves of London

by Carina Wilder

  “We were thinking that it would be nice to spend some time getting to know each other tonight,” Brigg said. “Perhaps over a glass of wine.”

  “Wine sounds grand,” she replied as she strode into the room, tossing her towel over the back of a chair. “But right now, I’m hungry. What’s to eat?”

  12

  After a modest dinner of leftover roast chicken and rice, Brigg escorted them into a large living room. Sinead smiled to herself when she took it in; the room certainly didn’t exude the stifling aura of a high security penitentiary.

  To call herself a prisoner in this home was beginning to seem ridiculous. The place looked like something out of a documentary about the Royals. Massive, floor-to-ceiling windows were coated in luxurious fabrics of rich green and silver. On the walls hung expensive-looking paintings of landscapes, no doubt worth a fortune. The rooms perimeter smacked of opulence, while its furniture, in stark contrast, was so oversized and comfortable-looking that Sinead wanted to lie down on the couch and forget all her troubles, past and present.

  “This is the best room in the house for lounging about on a lazy evening,” Brigg said, seeming to read her thoughts as he strode in. He headed over to a side table, a bottle of wine in hand, and filled three glasses. “I call it my man-cave, though it’s more a giant abyss.”

  Sinead plopped herself down at one end of the very large, welcoming couch covered in soft woven upholstery, pleasantly surprised to find herself sinking in as though the piece were greeting her with a warm hug. The house was beginning to remind her of the two men. Attractive, interesting, and full of surprises. She could learn to enjoy this life very much indeed.

  “A little nicer than the task force’s accommodations, I take it?” asked Cillian, who was standing some distance away, watching her. He had that curious look in his eye that she’d come to know over the course of mere hours. Always trying to sort her out, to guess at her inner workings. But there was something else, too. A subtle, silent kind of hunger set deep in his stare. She picked it up on his scent; that delectable musk of his that made her ache reluctantly for his touch. The moment his fingers had grazed her in the car she’d picked it up on the air, the tension between them palpable.

  She mustered a brief smile. “A little nicer than that ghastly prison, yes,” she said, “though I might come to miss the vermin. Rats are excellent companions, you know.”

  “Surely not as much fun as Dire Wolf shifters.”

  Sinead stuck out her tongue, aware that the gesture was probably a little too friendly. Wasn’t she supposed to hate them a little? To see them as wardens?

  No. It seemed only right to let herself go, after all; she might be here for some time. They weren’t exactly unpleasant company, and now that she’d cleaned herself up, she felt inclined, even, to spend some time with them on a fully voluntary basis. If this was to be her new prison, she’d happily accept her sentence—so long as no one locked her up.

  “Rats are something I was well acquainted with in my younger years,” said Brigg in an overly serious tone. He walked over to hand Sinead a glass, his eyes making contact with hers for a moment. “I can’t say I’m terribly fond of them.”

  “Surely you don’t have a problem in this splendid house of yours?” Sinead asked. There was no way; Brigg was too fastidious a man to allow his home to be overrun by disease-ridden beasties.

  “No,” he replied as he gave Cillian the second glass of wine and grabbed one for himself. He strode over to a nearby armchair and seated himself. “It was another time, another place. Another life, really.”

  “Well, are you going to tell us about it, ya great bastard?” asked Cillian. “If we’re going to get to know each other, it would be nice to learn where you’ve spent the bulk of your life, Brigg, you enigma wrapped in a baguette, wrapped in a soggy paper bag, wrapped in Italian silk and men’s body wash.”

  “I’ve spent the last few decades working for Scotland Yard,” Brigg replied, his eyes moving towards a distant window as if to warn Cillian away from prying. “That’s really all you need to know.”

  Sinead eyed him silently. Somehow, the investigator found ways of becoming more intriguing with each word that escaped his mouth. For the first time in her life, she’d met someone who kept secrets about his past locked away even more securely than she kept her own. She wondered why. What was it that frightened him so much that he couldn’t divulge the smallest detail? What dirty gems did he keep locked away in his private vault?

  “Ah.” Cillian shut his mouth, seeming to know all too well that it wasn’t a great idea to push Brigg to provide answers. He marched to sit on the couch at the opposite end from Sinead, granting her a good deal of space. She wanted to laugh when she looked over at his frustrated expression. Poor lad was surrounded by two people who’d clearly devoted their lives to concealing their true natures. Her stare drew his eyes to hers, his eyebrows raising hopefully. “As for you, Lioness? Where did you spend your sordid youth?”

  She took a long sip of wine and licked her lips slowly, only realizing after she’d done it how erotic a gesture it was. She lowered her eyes to her bare feet and wiggled her bare toes, trying to distract herself from thoughts of sex. “Well, that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” she replied. “I’m not quite sure you want to hear the answer.”

  “On the contrary,” said Brigg. When Sinead pulled her eyes up she could see that he was looking at her with that disconcerting, penetrating gaze of his. The one that drew her in and made her go weak in the knees at once. It was the look he’d given her in her cell yesterday, the moment when she’d felt a strange, unexpected surge of affection for him.

  A sudden compulsion overcame her to tell them both everything. Fuck secrecy. Fuck fear. Maybe talking was exactly what she needed right now. During her captivity she’d wished for closeness. She’d wished, more than anything, for affection, for love. Surely to God she could let her companions in on what made her tick.

  “My parents sent me away,” she said abruptly, ejecting the words quickly, before she had a chance to change her mind. “When I was very young. To a very posh boarding school.”

  Cillian’s eyes widened in surprise. “What? Why would they do that?” he asked. “I’m sorry if I sound naive, but your parents were shifters, surely? I’ve never heard of shifters sending a child away.”

  “My mother was a shifter, yes. She was the Lioness in the family. My father was descended from Lions too, of course; he had the blood in him, but not the compulsion to shift. He was ambitious, a businessman who was worried that his out-of-control daughter might hurt his golden reputation. I was attached to my déor, you see. I loved shifting. I loved roaming about, getting into trouble.”

  She bowed her head again and stared at her wine glass. She’d never talked to anyone about her childhood. About a father who never really cared about her and a mother who chose to submit to his will, rather than let her daughter know that she was loved, that she was valued. She chose to discard her only child to appease a man who had rejected his inner beast and in so doing had become all the more beastly.

  “What was boarding school like?” asked Brigg. Sinead was relieved that he was choosing to focus on the school rather than on her horrid, icy parents. There was nothing in his voice but kindness, warmth, and comfort, and she was grateful for it.

  “It was hell, if I’m to be honest,” she said, pulling her eyes to his. “You’d think that was an exaggeration, but the truth is that if someone decided to write a description of my notion of the very depths of hell, I would draft a tale about that place, about how they treated me. About all of it. My prison cell in the task force’s building was awful, but at least there I could be alone. I wasn’t being tortured from dawn until dusk by people who despised me; I was simply left to fester in peace.”

  Sinead swallowed hard. A part of her didn’t want to talk about any of this, but for some reason, she knew she needed to keep going. She needed to let it out, after all these years. Too oft
en she’d come close to breaking down, to exploding. Something told her that if anyone on earth could understand what she’d been through, it would be these two men. They knew what it was to live in a world where others judged, where people saw them as different. A world where people saw them as Other, as lesser beings, or even as threats. Shifters had hidden themselves for a long time, but the world was beginning to rise up against them again. The world was a hostile place. But this living room…it was as close to home as she’d ever felt.

  “On my first day,” she said, “I was brought up to a room in what looked like a large sort of attic. The ceiling sloped sharply, and it was drafty up there, because there was no insulation in the windows. Oh, the school was expensive, of course, but at ten, I was one of the younger children and hadn’t proven my worth yet. So they threw me up there with eight other girls, all of whom hated me immediately. I was new. I was weird. I was an easy target. They loved pressing my buttons, and I grew restless and angry too easily because I couldn’t let my animal out. I had only begun to learn to control my Lioness when I had turned ten, and the truth is, she was my only true friend. I craved her presence. Every day spent holding her inside was torture, yet of course I couldn’t tell anyone what I was—what she was. To do so would have been to ruin my father’s career.”

  “The school was full of humans, of course. No shifters. From the start I knew I could never fit in. I had no place there. I felt like a freak, and the other children thought I was one. They quickly learned that they could make my eyes change colour by making me angry, so they learned new ways to draw my rage because it amused them. They said I had the eyes of a cat, and accused me of everything from witchcraft to demonic possession. They threw stones at me. Poured buckets of putrid fish into my bed. But in spite of everything, they never guessed what I was. I suppose I found ways to hide my true nature, but all of it came at the expense of my Lioness.”

  “They knew only that they were afraid of you,” said Brigg. “Humans almost always fear our kind. They’re afraid of what they don’t understand, and God knows, most of them will never begin to understand shifters. They fear our strength, our gifts.”

  “Maybe that’s why I was so afraid of them,” Sinead replied, nodding. “I never understood them. I don’t know how to deal with anyone who looks at me like I’m an alien. I’m grateful to be here with you two.” She could feel herself relaxing, growing comfortable enough with the two men to give them a taste of her. She knew that her eye colour was changing, dark brown lightening to bright, impossible gold. Her Lioness was skulking just below the surface of her skin, curious rather than frightened. Wanting to come out and introduce herself to two creatures who might actually accept her for what she was. “You don’t look at me that way.”

  No, they looked at her with admiration. With an oddly intimate affection, given that they’d known one another for mere hours.

  This was the first time in her life that she’d ever revealed to anyone the feelings of rejection, of loss that she’d lived through. The hideous sensation of being displaced without a true home, without a true family. It was the first time that she’d explored what it was that made her so terrified of the notion of attachment.

  “I understand what it is to have to hide your true self,” said Brigg, but he didn’t elaborate. No doubt he was being sincere; he’d worked for a law enforcement agency for years. He’d hidden his true nature from his colleagues this whole time. It must have been difficult not to release his Dire Wolf. Not to reveal it in his eyes, even in his scent. Humans were easy to fool, but when one of their kind got to know a shifter intimately, they often began to break through the shell, to see that something hidden lurked below the surface.

  “Hiding was the worst of it, yes. Nights were brutal,” Sinead said. “I would wake up covered in sweat. Sometimes they found me writhing in torment, moaning like a junkie going through withdrawal. The thing was, there was no way to cure the addiction to my Lioness. The symptoms never went away, even with the passage of time. They just grew worse and worse.” She shot a glance over at Cillian, who was staring intently, his piercing blue eyes narrowed in something that looked like anger. Anger at those who’d sent her away, no doubt. Anger at her circumstances. Anger that she’d suffered. His empathy drew a lump to her throat, which she swallowed. No sense in breaking down now. She was strong, or at least she’d always pretended to be. She wasn’t sure she wanted these men to see any more weakness than she was already showing them.

  “I can’t imagine what you endured,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

  “If you care to imagine it, picture feeling the hungriest you’ve ever been,” she replied, “then multiply it times ten and then imagine feeling that way for twenty-four hours every day.”

  His jaw was tense now. She knew that look; she’d seen it on her own face a million times in the mirror. He was fighting back the Wolf that wanted so badly to emerge. Perhaps he simply wanted to offer her solace and comfort. Perhaps he sought to protect her. Whatever the reason, his déor wanted to help “So what did you do? How did you survive that?” he asked.

  Sinead shrugged and took another sip. It was good wine, this. Brigg had excellent taste. “I suffered through it,” she said. “Of course I got angry. I sometimes fought with the other girls. They called me a freak. They reported me sometimes when my eyes turned light, but the headmistress told them they were being fools, and that was that. For seven years, that was my life.”

  Cillian rose to his feet and paced the floor for a minute, like he couldn’t keep still. Sinead could feel his Wolf on the air, his agitation. Finally he sat down on the floor, leaning back against the couch. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m really sorry that you had to deal with that.”

  “It’s not your fault,” she replied.

  “Doesn’t matter. Shifters did that to you. Shifters shouldn’t imprison one another. Yet we do, still. Even the Guild has been known to throw shifters into cells under Hampstead Heath…”

  “What?” asked Sinead. This was the first she’d heard of it.

  “Long story,” Cillian replied. “You’ve just reminded me that there are better ways. Humane ways. We need to learn to work together, rather against one another.”

  “You’re right, of course.” Sinead slipped off the couch and stepped over to Cillian. She eased down next to him, taking care not to spill her wine, and looked up at Brigg.

  “Come, join us,” she said. “Please.”

  Brigg silently stood and moved to her other side, slipping down next to her.

  “You’re a mysterious man,” she said to him. “You’re kind, Brigg. Gentle. But I get the impression that you would kill if it meant doing the right thing.”

  “I would,” he said. “I have.”

  “You’re really not going to tell us, are you?” she asked.

  “Tell you what?”

  Sinead studied his face for signs of weakness, for a way in. But all she could see was the hard shell he sometimes erected. An impenetrable lack of expression on those gorgeous features of his.

  Cillian was much more expressive, always smiling or frowning. He wore his emotions on his sleeve like a series of badges: Angry. Sad. Happy. Amused.

  But Brigg? He had two settings: Quiet and Quieter.

  “Tell us what made you this way.”

  Brigg smiled briefly, his eyes meeting Sinead’s before moving to Cillian. “How about this?” he said. “I won’t tell you tonight. But maybe I’ll explain everything sometime soon, when the time is right.”

  13

  After a minute or so, Sinead decided to break the awkward silence. The truth was, she was actually enjoying talking with the two men. Somehow, she’d managed to go from seeing them as possible oppressors to the best friends she’d ever had, over the course of a few short hours. She’d begun to trust them, and even more importantly, her Lioness trusted them.

  Something told her there was nothing that these two wouldn’t do for her if she asked.

  “So…wh
at are we going to do with ourselves?” she asked, turning to Brigg. “I mean, we told the task force that I was going to help you locate shifters. What are we going to do about the fact that I’m actually not doing anything of the sort?”

  “Leave that to me,” he replied. “I’ll probably just tell them that we’ve unfortunately found no shifters, but that your ongoing presence is required to continue the search.”

  “Won’t that get you into trouble? If you fail, I mean.”

  “Probably. But there are worse things than failing.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like having a beautiful woman thrown into a cell because there’s a mighty Lioness inside her.”

  Sinead flushed. He’d done it again, complimented her. But this time she didn’t reprimand him. Instead, she let the pleasure of it wash over her.

  I wonder, she thought, if you know what I think of you.

  She wanted to ask—rather, she wanted to tell them—how she felt.

  I find you both very, very attractive, and the closer you sit to me, the harder it is not to reach out and grab you. I want to ask you to take me upstairs and make love to me. Both of you at once.

  What would it feel like, she wondered, to taste the two of them, to feel four hands on my flesh? To have two mouths at my disposal?

  Fucking good, that’s how.

  Stop talking to yourself, woman.

  She knew by now that her scent was swirling through the air. The thought of them was sending pheromones shooting out into the atmosphere, and there was no way in hell that their Dire Wolves would be oblivious to them.