Leader Of The Pack

by Karen McInerney

He shrugged. “I am not familiar enough with the Americans to say.”

  “What did you say to him?”

  “The truth,” my father said simply.

  “Meaning?”

  “That he was a lying, traitorous bastard who did not deserve to live, of course. What else would I say to him?”

  Gosh. I couldn’t imagine why the pack thought he was guilty. I stared at the wild-haired, smelly werewolf before me, thinking how astonishing it was that this man had been successful in politics. Clearly there was a bit of a difference between the werewolf world and the human one I ’d grown up with, at least where the political process was concerned. “And then you beat him up a little bit and walked on?” I asked, feeling very tired suddenly.

  He gave another one of those Gallic shrugs, making his chains clank. “Oui.”

  I sighed. “You didn’t see or smell any other werewolves?”

  “None at all.”

  “Well, that’s less than helpful,” I said. I racked my brain for other questions to ask, but came up blank. I stared at Luc, still trying to come to terms with the fact that the scruffy werewolf in front of me was my biological father. And that unless I was willing to risk an out-and-out war, there was an excellent chance he would be dead within a week.

  “Why didn’t you try to find us?” I asked quietly, almost involuntarily, feeling a tightness in my throat.

  “Pardon me?” Evidently the subject change was a bit much for him to follow.

  “When my mother and I left Paris,” I croaked. “Why didn’t you follow us?”

  He let out a long sigh. “I wanted to, my dear. But I owed it to my family to stay.”

  “We were your family.”

  “Yes,” he said. “And it is one of my biggest regrets that I was not there to guide you in your growth. But I did it all for you.”

  I blinked at him. “Excuse me? You’re saying you drove us out of Paris and left my mother on her own for my benefit?”

  “My dear,” he said. “I am now alpha of the Paris pack. Don’t you know what that makes you?”

  “The daughter you kicked out of Paris and abandoned?” I asked, not really seeing the silver lining.

  “You do not understand,” he said, shaking his head. “Sophie, my darling. You are royalty now! The Paris pack is yours for the taking. Once I am gone …”

  “No. You don’t understand,” I said. “I don’t want the Paris pack.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve built a life for myself here, in Texas.” I shrugged, which made me feel irritatingly Gallic. “I have no interest in moving to Paris. Besides, my French sucks.”

  “I would be honored to instruct you …”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “Well then,” he said. “The solution is clear. Take charge of the Texas packs.”

  As if all I had to do was walk up to Wolfgang and Elena, tap them on the shoulder, and inform them that I would be stepping up in their places. And that while I was at it, I was making myself supreme ruler of all the other packs, too. “I don’t think so,” I said.

  “All you have to do is get in touch with Armand. The entire Paris pack will be at your disposal.”

  “Even though I’m half human, and they were ready to stake me as an infant?”

  “All that is past,” he said. “You are a strong, beautiful werewolf, with an obvious and striking resemblance to your sire.”

  I stared at the smelly, disheveled man in too-tight jeans who sat chained before me and thought, Dear God, I hope not.

  But he was still rambling on. “Your destiny is clear now. You will be a credit to the pack.”

  “Forget it,” I said. “Forget I asked. I’m going to do my best to get you off. Then, maybe, if we get really, really, lucky, we can have a quick celebratory dinner. After which you can get on the first plane back to Paris, and I’ll consider sending you a Christmas card.”

  He looked pained, and I don’t think it was just because his shackles were tight. “But…”

  “Shh,” I said, closing my eyes and straining my ears. Adrenaline shot through me, and my hackles stood up at attention. “There’s something outside,” I whispered. “I have to go.”

  “Contact Georges,” he said in a low, urgent voice. “Do it tonight.”

  But I was already headed for the window. “I’ll be in touch,” I said, as if we’d just had a nice chat over a couple of caramel macchiatos at Starbucks. Ten seconds later, I leaped through the glassless window, fumbling at the buttons of my blouse as I sailed through the air and hoped I wasn’t aiming for a prickly pear. As I hit the thankfully cactus-free ground, there was a flurry of activity from a small patch of oak trees. Before I knew it, I was in full wolf form, tugging at my skirt with my teeth and taking a deep, long whiff of the cool air. There were werewolves, all right. And another scent…

  I had just managed to get my left shoe off when something exploded into the clearing beside me.

  What I should have done, particularly after Tom’s repeated admonitions, was to turn and run as fast as my stiletto-less paws could go. But when a beautiful buck with a rack the size of a small crape myrtle burst into view, instinct and adrenaline took over. I leaped forward and sank my teeth into its neck, bringing the huge animal down with a startled grunt.

  Naturally, that was the moment when the rest of the pack came thundering into the clearing, Wolfgang and Elena at its head.

  I looked around at the group of assembled werewolves, the buck’s neck still firmly attached to my fangs, and attempted something like a smile. Which is a challenge when you’re (a) not in human form and (b) hampered by a large mouthful of flailing, rather bloody deer.

  Elena glared at me, widening her nostrils, and I broke out into a cold sweat, hoping my special scent-shielding power was still in full force and worrying that the fenugreek had worn off. A worry that was allayed a moment later as a strong whiff of eau-de-Waffle-House reached my hypersensitive nostrils.

  Wolfgang stared at me impassively for a long moment, as if memorizing every feature of my blood-stained, dyed-hair wolfie countenance. Then he turned and stalked off, nose in the air. After one last cold glare, Elena followed suit, with the rest of the werewolves in her wake.

  Suddenly I was all alone in the clearing again. Well, not completely alone, really—the deer was still kicking a bit, making awful grunting sounds as its lifeblood seeped out onto my face. I managed to detach myself from the huge animal, feeling kind of bad about the poor thing, hoping no one had recognized me (fat chance, with my hairdo), and wishing I’d just kept my mouth shut—and deer free.

  At least one werewolf had identified me. I was busy wiping my face on the grass, trying to get the sticky blood off, when Tom appeared in the shadow of a short oak tree.

  Never have I found myself more frustrated by an inability to talk. While I stood there covered in deer blood, thinking all kinds of questions at him, he just gave me a long, sad look. Then he gave me a quick head jerk—kind of a “follow me” gesture—and loped off into the direction of the changing tents.

  Since I had my skirt and top right there with me—half-hanging off of me, in fact—I took a few more swipes at my face, then took a moment to slip into the nearest bush and reassemble my human persona. Then I trotted after him, hoping I was correct in guessing his destination.

  When I got to the line of canvas tents, my left ankle twinging from where I’d twisted it on a tree root, he was standing, jeans-clad, outside the tent we had changed in earlier, arms crossed across his broad chest.

  “How bad is it?” I asked in one breath, suddenly conscious of the blood I knew was still smeared across my face. I was not exactly at my best just now, and next to Tom’s Nordic perfection, I was all too aware of it.

  He grimaced. “Where did you go? I thought you were going to stay with me.”

  “I followed a rabbit down here, and then the buck came …” I trailed off. He stared at me, silent.

  “So, it was a pretty big faux pas?”
I asked.

  “You could call it that.”

  “Well, what do I do now?” I asked, feeling miserable.

  “I think it would be best for us to leave,” Tom said, gold eyes sweeping over my disheveled self. Maybe my father and I resembled each other more than I liked to admit, I thought, my cheeks burning. We certainly did at that moment.

  “Okay,” I said, prepared to follow him down the path. I took two steps toward him, wincing at the pain in my ankle. When I grabbed a tree branch for support, Tom stepped forward and put an arm around me. “Lean on me,” he said quietly.

  “Are you sure? I’m kind of messy.” I gestured toward the liberal splatters of deer blood that decorated my neck and arms.

  “Just let’s go,” he said, and we walked down the path toward his motorcycle with me clinging to him for support.

  As we made our way toward the parking lot, he turned and looked at me. “By the way, why were you so close to the garden cottage?”

  “I stopped in for a quick family visit.”

  “You saw your father?” Tom asked, pulling me closer as I stumbled over a rock. A tingle went through me as my body pressed against his.

  “Yeah,” I said, trying to sound calm and reasonable and not like I was trying to keep myself from burying my face in his chest and wrapping my arms around him.

  “How did you get in?” he asked.

  “I broke a window.”

  “Of course,” he said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Let’s hope they don’t connect the window with your location when you took the buck down.”

  “Oh. I hadn’t thought about that.”

  He was quiet for a moment, thinking what I hoped were charitable thoughts about my enterprising behavior. Finally, he asked, “What did he say?”

  “He still wants me to get in touch with the Paris pack.” Not to mention take over the entire Texas werewolf world.

  “And will you?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I’d like to prove his innocence, but if there’s no other way …” I shivered. “He’s not my favorite person in the world, but he’s still my father. I’d have a hard time watching them stake him and knowing I could have done something to prevent it.”

  “I understand,” he said softly.

  “He seemed surprised that you and I are friends,” I said.

  “He would be,” Tom said.

  “Why?” I asked, picking my way over a particularly rocky area and vowing to wear flats next time I came out to the ranch. If there was a next time. After what had happened tonight, it was unlikely Inga would be received with open arms in the future.

  “Your father is surprised because I have historically sided with the Grafs,” Tom said, tightening his grip on me as I leaned against him. “Against the Garous.”

  “Then why have you been so nice to me?”

  He shrugged. “You aren’t a typical Garou, I suppose. You haven’t been raised among them, so you lack certain of their … prejudices.” He hesitated for a moment, then said, “My sister was married to Wolfgang once.”

  “That’s right,” I said. “What was her name … Astrid?”

  He nodded.

  “She died, didn’t she? How?”

  Tom glanced down at me, his eyes shimmering in the moonlight. “Your uncle Armand killed her.”

  I pulled away, horrified. My own uncle had killed Tom’s sister. And he was the werewolf my father wanted me to contact for help. “No …”

  Tom reached for me, pulling me back toward him. “It is not your fault, Sophie. It was in the heat of battle. You were not even alive then.”

  “But still… I’m so sorry, Tom. God. How can you stand to be near me?”

  He shrugged. “Like I said, you were not raised among the Garous. And you are not your family.”

  Before I could ask any more questions, we turned the bend and were back in the parking lot. “We have arrived,” Tom said. “Are you ready to head back to Austin?”

  “I don’t think I can do any more damage here,” I said.

  He chuckled, a low, growly sound that sent a ripple of lust through me. “Let’s hope not.”

  As he climbed onto the motorcycle, I allowed myself one last look at the garden cottage. Would I be able to find a way to get my father out of there? Or would I have to resort to calling in the werewolf who had killed Tom’s sister?

  Then Tom beckoned to me, and I climbed on behind him, and suddenly I wasn’t worried about anything anymore. The engine roared to life beneath us, and I leaned my head against Tom’s back as he backed out of the spot and pointed the front wheel toward the exit. Breathing in his wild alpha-male scent, which was only heightened by the soft, leathery smell of his jacket, I pushed the less than productive—not to mention embarrassing—events of the evening aside, luxuriating in the feel of Tom’s hard body against mine. Even if I wasn’t exactly at my best—unless you’re a vampire, bloodstains aren’t particularly sexy, and I was pretty sure my mascara had smeared—Tom still made me feel incredibly hot. And there’s nothing like a cheap erotic thrill to put things in perspective. Even if it is with a guy who’s currently dating your best friend.

  We were almost past the last farmhouse and I was shamelessly scootching up a little bit closer to Tom when something in the woods caught my eye.

  It was a werewolf, still in wolf form, standing half-hidden behind a cedar tree. His golden eyes were trained on Tom and me, and despite the rather warm feeling I had from being this close to Tom, something in the intensity of the werewolf’s gaze caused me to shiver. We were just passing him when a gust of wind brought me a whiff of a familiar synthetic scent.

  Pleather.

  “What do you think I should do now?” I asked when we had made it past Frank the doorman without him noticing that I looked like an extra from Night of the Living Dead. For the first time, I found myself thankful for Frank’s obsession with HGTV; he’d barely spared us a glance as we scurried across the lobby.

  “I don’t know,” Tom said as we stepped off the elevator a moment later and I fished for my keys. We hadn’t had much of a chance to chat on the back of his motorcycle, what with the sixty-mile-per-hour winds and all, so we were just now catching up on the evening’s events. “Did you find out anything from Kayla?”

  “Not much.” I unlocked the door to the loft and tried to smooth down my flyaway black hair. “She was in Galveston when the murder happened, and she’s convinced it was Luc who killed him. As is everyone else,” I added grumpily, remembering my conversation with Anthony. I flipped on the lights and turned to Tom. “Can I get you a drink?”

  “Not right now, thanks. I promised Lindsey I would stop by to see her,” he said. Suddenly, there was a huge awkwardness between us. Or maybe it was just me.

  “Oh,” I said. “Well, tell her hi from me.” I’d figure out whether to share what I’d learned about Tom’s reputation later. It wasn’t like they weren’t well matched; Lindsey didn’t have a long attention span herself, and had cut quite a swath through the male population of Austin over the last few years.

  Tom put a warm hand on my arm, and I suppressed a shiver. “What about your father? Was he able to tell you anything?”

  “He admitted to having a scuffle with Charles, but said he didn’t kill him.” I snorted. “Said Charles’s not being alpha was punishment enough.”

  “He said nothing else?”

  “Wait,” I said. “Maybe he did come up with something useful. He told me Charles had slept with a woman that day, a werewolf. He could smell her on him. But it couldn’t have been Kayla, because she was in Galveston.”

  Tom’s blond eyebrows rose. “Interesting. Are you thinking he might have been killed by a jealous lover, then?”

  “I don’t know. What’s the take on monogamy in werewolf packs?” I asked, feeling the blood rise to my cheeks as I asked the question.

  “Prior to making a commitment, it is not required,” he said. “But once a couple is promised, it is expected t
hat they will refrain from consorting with others.”

  “Ah.” Tom and Lindsey weren’t “promised,” I thought, shooting a sidelong glance at the tall, lean werewolf with golden hair and eyes to match. Did that mean he was seeing other people? Kayla certainly seemed to think he liked to play the field. I glanced down at his hand, which was still resting lightly on my arm. Was it possible he might be interested in seeing me? I’d kind of gotten that impression a few weeks ago …

  Don’t go there, Sophie. “So if he was … er … with someone else that night,” I confirmed, “it wouldn’t have been kosher.”

  “If what you are suggesting is that it was improper,” Tom replied, “you would be correct.”

  Werewolf society might have some ethically questionable takes on what constituted acceptable behavior—it might have several of them, in fact—but evidently free love wasn’t among them. “Do you know if there was anyone else he was interested in?” I asked. “Or what he was doing in downtown Austin that evening?”

  “I do not know. Many werewolves were in Austin prior to the Howl—even Wolfgang and Elena stayed in town for a couple of days before moving to the ranch. But as for Charles’s romantic interests …” He shifted from foot to foot, looking a little bit uncomfortable. “Perhaps I may be of some assistance in that matter.”

  “How so?”

  “It happens that I am on familiar terms with one or two of his former flames,” Tom said, staring with intense interest at a spot on the wall above me.

  “Oh, really? My, you do get around,” I said.

  His golden eyes dropped from the wall to me. “I did not say that I had been with them,” he pointed out. “I merely said that I was on familiar terms with them.”

  “Familiar enough to find out if one of them was still sleeping with Charles?”

  “We shall see,” he said. He gave my arm a little squeeze, then released me, eyes lingering on mine. His voice was a bit husky when he spoke again. “As exciting as my time with you has been, I’m afraid I have to go.”

  “How bad was tonight’s faux pas?” I asked as he turned toward the door. I had been afraid to ask, but I needed to know before he left.