Leader Of The Pack

by Karen McInerney

  “He will be tried tomorrow,” Wolfgang said. “For murder.”

  “He should be killed now! For treachery!” Jean-Louis thundered, the blood rushing to his cheeks.

  Luc raised his head. “I took what was rightfully mine,” he called. Then he looked at Wolfgang. “And Armand will take what is his—again. My daughter has already contacted him. I would not be astonished if they arrived tonight.”

  I shrank against Tom, willing my father to shut up.

  Jean-Louis shot my father a venomous glare, then turned back to Wolfgang. “Until Garou is dead, there will be no alliance. You are harboring a traitor to my family.”

  “And to mine,” Wolfgang reminded him.

  “Then let us both avenge our families,” Jean-Louis growled.

  “No,” Wolfgang said, his voice like steel. “We will convene the Fehmgericht tomorrow.”

  “He has not officially been indicted. It is not yet binding. So kill him now,” Jean-Louis demanded, his eyes flaring in the firelight. “Only when he’s dead will I accede to your alliance. As long as you harbor this traître, I cannot trust you.”

  “He is my prisoner,” Wolfgang said. “Not my ally.”

  “He should be dead,” Jean-Louis said.

  Wolfgang seemed to be considering this logic. He turned to look at my father, who took that moment to say, “Armand will be so happy to see you, after all these long years. You must miss the wurst…”

  I winced. What the hell had happened to all that fear I’d smelled on my father earlier? Why on earth couldn’t he keep his mouth shut?

  Wolfgang turned back to Jean-Louis. “Perhaps we could make an exception …”

  “No!” I shouted before I even knew what I was doing. “It’s against the Code! We’re in the proscribed time!” As Wolfgang and Jean-Louis stared at me with something like shock, I bolted into the center of the clearing. The fire was hot against my skin as I faced the two alphas.

  “Who is this?” Jean-Louis asked, looking utterly confused.

  “That is my daughter,” Luc announced proudly from his shackles on the edge of the clearing. “Sophie Garou.”

  Another excited murmur passed through the clearing. Wolfgang’s eyes burned with cold anger as they met mine. “Why are you here under false pretenses?” he barked. Behind him, Elena bared her teeth and snarled.

  “She’s here with me,” Tom said, striding up beside me and putting an arm around my shoulders. “And she is correct. If you fail to follow through with the trial, you, too, will be guilty of the same crime with which you have charged Luc Garou.”

  “But he is a traitor!” Jean-Louis bellowed.

  “Tom is technically correct. Luc Garou is the alpha of the Paris pack,” Wolfgang said. Although I was all in favor of what he was saying, the look in his eyes—not to mention the tone of his voice, which made liquid nitrogen seem toasty by comparison—paralyzed me with fear. I wasn’t sure if Wolfgang had ever been someone I’d consider a friend, but he certainly wasn’t now. “He must be tried.”

  “Sophie! When will Armand be here?” Luc Garou called from his spot along the sidelines.

  I stared straight ahead, feeling guilt wash through me that I hadn’t done what my father had requested. Was there enough time left? The murmur rose to a roar around us, and Isabella responded by hammering the podium-pulpit thingamajig with a big gavel. “Silence!” she bellowed. “At once! We will return to the business at hand.”

  She glared around the clearing, as if daring someone to speak. When no one volunteered, she returned her gaze to Wolfgang and Jean-Louis. “Am I to presume that the alliance will not move forward at this time?”

  “Not until Luc Garou is dead with a stake in his chest,” Jean-Louis said, then slowly turned to me. The look in his golden eyes froze me to the marrow. “Along with his mongrel whelp.”

  My heart just about stopped in my chest at the poison in Jean-Louis’s look. I’d never known what it was like to have someone want to murder me because of my parentage, and I can’t say I enjoyed the experience. My eyes veered away from Jean-Louis and landed on my shackled father, which wasn’t a vast improvement.

  “Sophie has done nothing wrong,” Tom said from somewhere behind me.

  “She’s called the Paris pack to attack,” Wolfgang pointed out. “I think that qualifies, don’t you?”

  My face burned under the gaze of hundreds of werewolf eyes. Including my father’s, which were blazing with misplaced hope. I hadn’t, in fact, gotten in touch with the Paris pack, but I wasn’t about to admit that in front of my father.

  “You are bound by the code to try Luc Garou,” Tom said evenly.

  Wolfgang stared at Tom, his eyes cold, and I could sense the battle of wills. Then, quietly, Tom said, “Do it for Astrid.” Astrid, Tom’s sister—and Wolfgang’s former mate.

  Wolfgang’s face didn’t even flicker at the mention of his deceased beloved, but to be honest, I wasn’t surprised. After all, Astrid and Wolfgang had parted ways a long time ago, and Wolfgang was about to get hitched to mate number three—that I knew of, anyway. There could be many more. But after a long moment during which I promised everything but my firstborn to whatever gods might be in the neighborhood if only the Houston alpha would relent, Wolfgang turned to Isabella. “Summon Luc Garou to the Fehmgericht,” he said curtly.

  I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

  “But… what of the alliances?” Isabella said.

  “I believe we have just concluded that portion of the assembly,” Wolfgang said, glancing at Jean-Louis, who was still looking at me like he was deciding if the two-inch or the three-inch stake would be a better fit between my ventricles. Wolfgang continued, his voice quiet but deadly. “The alliance will progress no further until this other business is attended to. I ask you again: Summon Mr. Garou to the Fehmgericht, Frau Murano.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Isabella beckoned to one of the cadre of werewolves standing nearby, and he hurried up to the podium. As the werewolf underling scurried off, Isabella addressed Wolfgang. “The preparation of the document summoning Monsieur Garou to the Fehmgericht has not yet been completed,” she said. “I propose that while we wait, we attend to the other outstanding issue.”

  When Wolfgang nodded, Isabella said a few words to the rest of the attending werewolves, who scattered to the tents. Then Isabella addressed the entire assembly. “I call all present alphas to preside at a criminal trial.”

  Each alpha howled assent, including Wolfgang and Jean-Louis, who were returning to their thrones as the three manacled werewolves were dragged to stand in front of the podium.

  “State your names,” Isabella announced. When they had done as she requested, she said, “You have been charged with the crime of attacking and mauling humans in an urban area. How do you plead?”

  “Not guilty!” said the girl, whose fear was so strong I could smell it over the smoke of the fire. “Not guilty!” echoed the two teenaged boys flanking her, their voices quavering.

  “Are there witnesses to the crime?” Isabella asked.

  A woman from the Texarkana pack raised her hand. “I saw it,” she said.

  “Your name, madame?”

  “Guinevere Morton of the Texarkana pack,” she said. “Formerly of the New York pack.”

  “For the sake of the court, Ms. Morton, please state what you observed.”

  “I was in town for the Howl, out for an evening run, and I saw these three harassing a young woman in the Greenbelt.”

  “She was my friend!” the girl cried. “We weren’t harassing her—we were just out for a hike!”

  “Silence!” Isabella said, addressing the girl with an icy voice. Then she turned back to the born werewolf. “How were they harassing the human?”

  “One of them had his teeth on her arm. They were pinning her down. They were about to rip her throat out, but I intervened.”

  “We were helping her up!” the girl wailed. “She’d tripped! We’re innocent, I swea
r it!”

  Isabella didn’t even glance at the girl, who was on her knees now, begging for mercy. “Excellent, Ms. Morton. Thank you.” The Philadelphia alpha looked around. “Are there any other witnesses for the prosecution?”

  Nobody answered.

  “All right, then. Are there any witnesses for the defense?”

  “We didn’t do it, ma’am. Honest, we didn’t,” the girl cried. “We were just trying to help!”

  “The accused will remain silent,” Isabella said.

  “But please!” Tears formed in her eyes. “My mother would die if anything happened to me …”

  “Any witnesses for the defense?” Isabella repeated. I was dying to speak out on their behalf—they looked so pathetic that even if they had been harassing a human I thought they deserved another chance—but was afraid that any word from me would only damage their case further. After a torturously long moment, Isabella said, “If there are no more witnesses, and no further evidence, I commend this case to the judges.”

  The girl wailed, but Isabella ignored her, and within a minute, the werewolves who had dispersed to the tents started returning to her with folded pieces of paper. When the final slip had made its way back to the central podium, which must have taken all of five minutes, Isabella reviewed the papers and then faced the three made werewolves. The two boys were trying to pull the girl to her feet, but her knees appeared to have given out on her. “Rise to hear the verdict,” Isabella said, and they somehow managed to get her up onto her Keds. Her mascara made streaks down her face, and with her cheeks still slightly chubby with baby fat, she looked no older than thirteen.

  “The assembly court finds you guilty of hunting humans in a manner that violates the Code,” Isabella said in a flat voice. The girl screamed, a long wail that took a long time to die. “The sentence,” Isabella continued, “is that tomorrow at moonrise, you, the condemned, will be ‘Free as a Bird’.”

  The girl looked up in disbelief. “You’re gonna let us go?” she asked, her voice quavering. She raised a hand to wipe her cheeks, but the chains held her back.

  “You are dismissed until tomorrow at moonrise,” Isabella said briskly, turning away from her. The jailers moved toward the trio.

  “They’re letting us go!” the girl said. “I can’t believe it!” But when the burly werewolves made no move to unlock the padlocks and started pulling the three made werewolves back to the edge of the clearing, she looked confused. “But why are we still in chains? Are they just waiting till tomorrow? If we’re going to go free, why wait?”

  My heart plummeted all the way to my shoes as they led the three young werewolves out of the clearing. How long would it take for her to figure out what “Free as a Bird” meant? Would it be when Wolfgang ran her down?

  I closed my eyes, feeling panic pressing in against me. If what I had just witnessed was considered a fair trial, then Luc Garou was screwed.

  While the tents buzzed with speculation, Isabella stood gripping the podium with one hand and smoothing down her black hair until finally one of the werewolves returned with a rolled-up document in one hand and a black case in the other.

  Isabella whisked it from the underling’s hand, then unrolled it. Gesturing for the underling to open the case, she directed her attention to the Houston tent. “Herr Graf, will you please approach the podium and apply the appropriate signature?”

  “Of course,” said Wolfgang, and strode to the center of the clearing. Isabella handed him a long, silvery knife and something that looked like a pen. To my shock, Wolfgang rolled up his left shirtsleeve and drew the knife across his forearm until blood started running down to his elbow. Then, to my utter disgust, he held the nib of the pen to the wound and applied the pen to paper. After three returns to the inkwell, so to speak, he finished his signature with a flourish and returned the document to Isabella, who read it to the assembly while Wolfgang stanched his wound with a cloth.

  “Let it be known by this document,” Isabella intoned as the torches flared around her, “that Luc Garou of the Paris pack has been called to trial by Herr Wolfgang Graf, reigning alpha of the Houston pack and Freigraf of the Texas Fehmgericht.”

  “What’s a Freigraf ?” I whispered to Tom.

  “The leader of the Fehmic Court

  ,” he said.

  Isabella continued. “The charge is the murder of a fellow werewolf during the proscribed time. The court date has been set for tomorrow, March twentieth, at sundown. Failure to appear will constitute an assumption of guilt, with the sentence appropriate to that verdict.” With a flick of her wrist, she rolled up the document and handed it back to the underling, pointing at my father. “Deliver it to the accused.”

  The werewolf took the rolled-up parchment and crossed the clearing to where my father stood in chains. Luc refused to take it, until two werewolves grabbed his arm and pried his hand open. My father growled, but was forced to wrap his fingers around the roll.

  “The summons has been delivered,” intoned Isabella. “The court will convene tomorrow evening.”

  “You’ll be dead before it even gets started!” Luc called as they started pushing him out of the clearing. “My daughter will see to that! You’ll all pay for this!”

  He was still shouting when Tom took my arm and pulled me away from the crowd of shouting werewolves. “Let’s get out of here while we still can,” he said, leading me away from the fire. “They’re not supposed to be able to hold you here, but with passions running high, we should leave as quickly as possible.” I took a last glance back at the leader of the pack, who appeared to be barking orders to his underlings, before Tom and I sprinted through the woods, escaping to his motorcycle—and to the twenty-first century.

  “We have to go to the Driskill,” I yelled as Tom revved up the engine of his Harley and we tore toward the Graf Ranch exit. I glanced over my shoulder as he gunned it; nobody had followed us yet, but I was afraid it was only a matter of time.

  “Why the Driskill?”

  “To see Georges,” I said. “My father’s assistant.”

  “You really want to involve the Paris pack?” Tom asked. “It’s a dangerous move.”

  “What choice do I have?” I asked, but Tom didn’t answer me. I liked to think it was because it was too loud to hear, but I was afraid that wasn’t the only reason.

  I spent the next hour and a half leaning into Tom and savoring the clean, cold, slightly exhaust-scented wind. After my evening of medieval hell, I’d never been so thankful to see technology before, and the neon-lit gas stations and tacky billboards I usually found so annoying were the most gorgeous things on the planet. Tom kept the speedometer around seventy-five, which was fine by me; I was anxious to put as many miles of blacktop as possible between me and Fredericksburg.

  The reprieve was extremely temporary, though; I’d be back tomorrow, for the trial. And even though I’d managed to escape, at least for the night, both my father and the poor teenaged werewolves were still there, awaiting their awful fates.

  I also knew that if Jean-Louis had his way, I would soon be joining them.

  It was almost midnight by the time Tom pulled up outside the Driskill Hotel’s grand exterior, but the Sixth Street

  crowd was still going strong, staggering in and out of bars and, from the smell in the air, occasionally disgorging liters of partially digested beer and margaritas onto the sidewalk. Tom parked along the street—one of the benefits of riding a motorcycle is that it’s easy to find a place to put it—and I once again fought to resuscitate my hair as we headed into the old hotel’s grand front entrance together.

  “What room is he in?” Tom asked as we nodded to the bellhop and padded through the ornate entryway. The massive chandelier glistened comfortingly above us, speaking of civilization and normalcy. If it weren’t for the smoky smell that clung to my hair and clothes, it would be hard to believe I’d watched Wolfgang cut his arm open by the light of a hundred torches just an hour or two earlier.

  “He�
��s on the fourth floor,” I said.

  Tom paused a few yards away from the elevator. “What are you planning on telling him, Sophie?”

  “That my father’s in trouble, and that we need reinforcements immediately.”

  “There are several hundred werewolves in attendance at the Howl,” Tom pointed out. “That’s an awful lot of plane tickets.”

  He had a good point; I hadn’t considered the difference in numbers. Would the French reinforcements be enough? Or should I abandon the plan and just ask Mark to free Luc? Provided he really could … “I’m open to suggestions, Tom. I don’t know what else to do. If tomorrow’s trial is anything like tonight’s, it doesn’t matter if my father’s innocent. It’s going to be a sham.”

  Tom caught my arm. “Are you willing to risk a war for your father’s life?”

  “It seems the answer is yes,” I said. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”

  His grip on my arm hardened. “Are you willing to risk your existence in Austin, and maybe even your life, for a man who abandoned you when you were just a pup?”

  How could I explain what I was feeling? I wasn’t sure I could; everything in my world had been turned upside down over the last few days. “I think my life’s already in danger, to be honest,” I said. “But I’ve thought about it, Tom, and the thing is, I can’t just let my father die. He may have abandoned me when I was a child, but I won’t do the same to him now.”

  Tom released my arm, but not my gaze. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking—those golden eyes seemed blank as mirrors to me. “It sounds like your decision is made, then,” he said slowly. “I just want to make sure you’ve thought about the consequences.”

  I took the opportunity to voice a suspicion I’d been harboring all evening. “Is there another reason you don’t want me to rescue him?” I asked. “Are you sure you don’t still have a grudge against my father, for what happened to … to Astrid?”

  “I’ll admit that Luc Garou is not my favorite person,” he said. “But my primary concern is you.”