Leader Of The Pack

by Karen McInerney

  “You spoke with Mr. Krepinsky last night?” asked Heath, who had recovered his sangfroid.

  “Yes,” Tom said, radiating an air of effortless command—and utter sexiness—that, were it not for the fact that I was already a little unsteady due to the fact that my father’s life was on the line, would have made me weak in the knees. I glanced at Lindsey, but her eyes were fixed on Heath.

  “Under what circumstances?” Heath asked, looking cool and collected and quite handsome.

  “I accompanied Miss Sophie Garou to visit her father’s assistant last night, at the Driskill Hotel in Austin.”

  “How does this relate to Mr. Krepinsky?” Wolfgang asked sharply.

  “Mr. Krepinsky met us at the door, along with his associate, Mr. Ludovic.”

  “They were in conference with Garou’s compatriot?” Wolfgang asked.

  “Not exactly,” Tom said. “They had murdered him. We found him with a stake through his heart.”

  There was a gasp from the crowd, and my father’s face screwed up in pain.

  Tom continued. “They proceeded to attack Miss Garou and myself upon our arrival.”

  There was an outburst from the spectators; when the uproar had died down enough to hear, Heath addressed Tom. “But you say you spoke with Mr. Krepinsky last night.”

  Tom nodded. “That is correct.”

  “What was the nature of that conversation?”

  Tom leaned back in his chair. “After Miss Garou and I neutralized the situation, Mr. Krepinsky explained to me why he was present at Mr. Garou’s hotel.”

  “Why was that, exactly?”

  “He had been sent by Miss Tenorio,” Tom said, glancing at Elena, who was standing stock-still in the Houston tent. “I suspect his failure to appear tonight may have something to do with Miss Tenorio’s reluctance for him to share his testimony, in fact.”

  “Why had she sent them?” Heath asked.

  “She sent them to kill both Georges Lemuet and Sophie Garou,” he said simply. “Which constitutes,” he added, glancing at Elena, “a murder during the proscribed time. And is punishable by death, unless I am mistaken.”

  “They were going to call the Paris pack!” Elena burst out, striding into the center of the clearing. “I didn’t tell them to kill anyone. I told them to stop her from contacting the Parisians.”

  Wolfgang stared at her coldly. “You arranged this without my knowledge?”

  “That is not the only thing she arranged without your knowledge, Wolfgang,” Tom said quickly before Elena could respond.

  Elena started talking, but Wolfgang cut her off with a wave of his hand. “What else did he say?” he asked Tom, leaning forward in his chair.

  “Evidently, Miss Tenorio had made an arrangement with Mr. De Loup,” Tom said in a languid voice. Despite the relaxed tone of voice, I could see the tension in the muscles of his shoulders.

  “What was that arrangement?” Wolfgang asked coldly.

  “According to Mr. Krepinsky, once Miss Tenorio had been made co-alpha,” Tom said, “with the help of Mr. De Loup, her plan was to depose you and replace you with Charles Grenier.”

  “That is a lie!” announced one of the other judges, who stood up and ripped his hood back.

  “Why would Grenier offer his assistance?” Wolfgang asked.

  “It seems that in exchange for his assistance, Miss Tenorio would cede Beaumont and the surrounding territories to the Louisiana pack.”

  There was a shocked silence; then everyone started talking at once.

  “Silence!” Wolfgang roared. The talking stopped.

  Then he turned to Tom. “How does this relate to the case against the accused? If, as you say, Elena planned to involve Grenier in her future plans, why would she kill him?”

  “Perhaps he became a liability,” Tom said. “After all, you did see him leaving her hotel room.”

  Wolfgang’s face became very still.

  “Perhaps, Wolfgang, you were the one who killed Grenier,” Tom said, his voice deadly calm. “Because you knew he was planning to depose you, and because by killing Grenier and framing Luc Garou, you could finally wreak your revenge on the werewolf who evicted you from your home territory all those years ago.”

  “It’s only a theory,” Heath said hurriedly, trying to salvage the situation. “Miss Tenorio could have disposed of Grenier, as well. After all, she certainly had no compunction about ordering the death of Mr. Garou’s assistant. Or his daughter.”

  But I could tell it was too late; the damage had been done. I stared at my father, feeling sick to my stomach. Unless I was mistaken, Tom had just signed his death sentence.

  “Do you have anything else to add?” Wolfgang asked coldly.

  “Only this,” Tom said, standing up so that he towered over the black-robed Freigraf. “Wolfgang Graf, if you put Luc Garou to death, I will do everything in my power to draw the gods’ wrath down upon you.”

  “You dare to threaten me?” Wolfgang said in a dangerous voice.

  “I am simply encouraging you to make the right decision,” Tom said, but with an edge of menace in his voice. Again, I felt that ripple of power through the clearing. Tom then turned to Heath. “Do you have any more questions?” he asked.

  “The questioning is over, Mr. Fenris.” Wolfgang turned to his fellow judges. “I move we determine the verdict.”

  “But I haven’t made my closing arguments,” Heath protested.

  “They will not be required,” Wolfgang said, looking over to Isabella. “The bag, please.”

  Isabella strode to the table holding a black bag, stopping at each chair as the judges wrote their verdicts on slips of paper and dropped them in. When they had all dropped their papers into it, Isabella presented the bag to Wolfgang, who examined the judges’ statements in silence.

  Tom remained standing a few feet from my father, a menacing look on his face, as Wolfgang stood and faced my father.

  “Luc Garou,” he intoned. “The Fehmic Court

  has tried you in accordance with the court’s laws for the crime of murder during the proscribed time.” I stared at my father, praying that Tom’s threat had worked. My father had said he’d had a plan, but so far, he hadn’t said a word. Had he somehow managed to get in touch with the Paris pack? Would they be descending on the Howl at any moment?

  I squeezed my eyes shut, and Wolfgang’s next words came to me as if in a dream. “Luc Garou,” Wolfgang said, “I regret to inform you the court has determined that you are guilty.”

  Tom stepped forward, and a dark cloud scuttled in front of the waning sun. “I warned you, Wolfgang.”

  “The penalty for said crime is to be drawn and quartered,” Wolfgang intoned. I almost doubled over from shock. “Followed by staking and decapitation.”

  Oh, my God. I looked at my father, wishing I could do something—anything—to free him.

  “No,” Tom said, seeming to grow as I watched him. “You will not do this thing.”

  “Wolfgang,” said my father, his voice taunting despite the terrible sentence Wolfgang had just declared. “Are you such a coward, then?”

  Wolfgang’s eyes blazed, but he didn’t respond.

  “Are you afraid you will lose again?” he asked. “Is that why you won’t face me?”

  Wolfgang said nothing.

  “You were weak in Alsace. If you hadn’t been, I’d never have been able to topple you and send you to this hole on the other end of the earth.” My father’s eyes burned as he faced down Wolfgang. “If you kill me now, everyone will know that you are weak,” he said. “And it will be only a matter of months before someone stronger takes your place.”

  Luc then looked around at the crowd. “Wolfgang has proven nothing against me,” he said. “And if he murders me, he can never prove his own innocence.”

  There was a swell of something—agreement?—from the crowd.

  “There is another way, though,” Luc said. “We could let the gods decide.” Luc turned to Wolfgang. “There are
no witnesses,” he continued. “There was no confession. This trial is nothing but a sham. The judges are determined to wreak revenge on me, not to dispense justice.” He paused, focusing on Wolfgang. “If you’re convinced of your innocence—and my guilt—why not put all doubt aside?”

  Wolfgang stiffened.

  “You know what I mean,” Luc said, with a voice of firm authority that made me understand why he was alpha of the Paris pack. “Ladies and gentlemen, Madame Murano, distinguished members of the Fehmic Court

  …” he delivered a mock bow to the hooded figures—“… I propose a trial in the old ways. A duel before the eyes of the gods, to establish innocence or guilt.” He turned to address the crowd ringing the clearing. “Did I kill Charles Grenier? Or was it the threatened alpha of the Houston pack?” Despite the shackles and the rather scruffy wardrobe, his presence was commanding. “Shall we dispense with jaded juries and turn the verdict over to the gods?” He turned to the crowd. “What say you?”

  There was a moment of excruciating silence. I could tell the crowd might go either way. I stared at my father; would his sally work?

  Then, finally, somebody yelled, “Duel!” A moment later, another voice joined in, and within seconds, there was a low chant echoing through the clearing.

  Luc turned to Wolfgang. “The clan has spoken, Herr Freigraf” he said, drawing himself up like a king. Which I suppose he was. “Will you accede to their request?”

  Wolfgang stood there for a moment, motionless, rigid with anger. Then, brusquely, he nodded. “I should have torn your throat out the day you attacked Strasbourg,” he growled, his voice thick with barely repressed hatred. I hardly recognized him; his cool demeanor was gone, replaced by a fury that made him look, well, animal. “Since I did not, I will do it now.” He threw off his cloak. “Ten minutes. Here, in the clearing.” He jerked a hand at Garou. “Free him, and allow him to prepare,” he spat. “But do not let the coward escape.”

  As Wolfgang strode off, the rest of the cloaked Fehmic Court

  falling in behind him, Tom went to my father, whose guards were releasing him from his shackles. I ran across the clearing to join them.

  “Dad,” I said. “That was incredible. Are you sure you can win?”

  His eyes blazed as he turned to me. “You doubt me?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m just worried about you, is all.”

  “You did call me dad,” he said with a smile. He reached out and kissed me on the head. “You were right about Fenris, my dear,” he murmured.

  “I know,” I said.

  My father turned to Tom. “Thank you,” he said. “You risked much to save me, and I know your family and mine have not always been on the best of terms.”

  Tom nodded gravely, and the sight of him—his strong Nordic face silhouetted in the firelight, the gleam on the gold of his hair—made something inside me quiver. He’d been so strong, so masterful just now. “Will you be needing a second?” Tom asked. He was offering to be my father’s backup.

  Luc’s gaze was piercing. “Are you offering?”

  “I am,” Tom said.

  “Then I accept,” my father said, shaking off the shackles and gripping Tom’s hand. “Forgive my earlier suspicion. Clearly, I was wrong in my estimation of you.”

  “Thank you,” Tom said simply.

  “Now,” my father said, clapping his hands together with anticipation. His golden eyes gleamed in the torchlight. “Where do we go to prepare?”

  “I will lead you to the changing tents,” Tom offered.

  “Wait,” Luc said. He turned to me, and put his hands on my shoulders. “Sophie. I do not anticipate any trouble, but should, by chance, something happen …” He gazed at me with tenderness in his eyes, and ran one finger along my cheek lovingly. I realized with a pang exactly how much I’d missed having a father all these years. And that now, if things didn’t go perfectly, I might lose him again. Forever.

  “Sophie, my darling, I am delighted with the werewolf you have become. And meeting you …” He swallowed hard, and if I didn’t know better, his eyes started looking moist. “Meeting you has been one of the highlights of my life,” he said huskily, pulling me into a hug. The smell of him, unwashed as he was, triggered a wave of emotion in me.

  “But…” My eyes started to fill with tears.

  “If I do not emerge victorious, tell your mother I thank her. She has done a wonderful job raising you.”

  “After all I’ve been through,” I said, wiping my eyes, “you’d better not die.”

  “I’ll do everything in my power to prevent it,” he said, eyes gleaming. “Besides, I’ve known Wolfgang a long time. I’m not too worried.” A grin that could be described as slightly maniacal crossed his face. “It will be just like the battle of Colmar. He’ll be skulking off with his tail between his legs.”

  I glanced over toward Wolfgang, who had shed his robe and was stalking off to the side of the clearing, radiating fury. He didn’t look ready to skulk off, in my opinion, but I kept it to myself. The entire assembly was abuzz; apparently this was one of the most exciting events to happen at a Howl in some time.

  As the dark woods swallowed Tom and my father, Lindsey and Heath hurried up to where I stood, alone.

  Heath looked stricken, his face still pale. “I’m so sorry it came to this, Sophie. I did what I could.”

  “You were wonderful, Heath—you did everything you possibly could,” I said, trying to smile. “The jury was fixed; unless we could produce the murderer and make him or her sign a confession, there was no way they were going to let him go.”

  “Still. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to avoid … this,” he said, pointing to the center of the clearing, which was currently being cleared of the long, cloth-clad table.

  “Is your father going to be okay?” Lindsey asked, her gray eyes disturbingly shimmery. I wasn’t used to her werewolf scent, or Heath’s, really.

  “He seems to think so,” I said. “Let’s just hope he’s not wrong.”

  Lindsey glanced around at the crowd, which was focused rather intently on our little group. “I think we should move out of the way,” she whispered, and when I looked up at all the fiery eyes focused on us, I let her guide me out of the clearing, where we stood in the shelter of a gnarled oak tree.

  “How does a duel work?” Lindsey asked when we’d drawn into the shadows a bit.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But they don’t use swords, I don’t think.”

  “So they’ll be fighting as …”

  “As wolves,” I finished for her.

  Lindsey reached over and squeezed my arm, and Heath flashed me a sympathetic look from his strangely iridescent brown eyes. We stood in silence among the buzz of excited werewolves. A few minutes later, two massive wolves, one reddish, with slightly matted fur, the other pure, sleek gold, padded into the clearing. The reddish wolf raised his head and let out a howl that curdled my blood, then trailed off into a mournful dirge that raised every hair on my body.

  A moment later another huge golden wolf entered the clearing, followed by one as black as night, and let out an answering howl.

  The seconds moved to the edge of the ring then, leaving the two alphas to face each other.

  The two wolves’ eyes locked, and the growls emanating from their throats seemed to make the ground vibrate around me. Adrenaline pulsed through me; combined with the pull of the soon-to-rise full moon, I had to struggle to retain my human form. Then Wolfgang leaped forward, white teeth slashing, and my father darted to the right, teeth snapping at the Houston alpha’s hindquarters.

  My fingernails bit into my palms as the two turned to face off a second time, hatred rolling off of them in waves. The duel had begun.

  Both werewolves were experienced fighters—that much quickly became clear—and Luc Garou’s estimation of Wolfgang’s courage and fighting prowess appeared to be rather optimistic. Or else Wolfgang had been practicing over the last hundred years.

  The two of them l
unged at each other again and again, teeth snapping in the air—and occasionally, on the other’s body. The crowd watched, excitement in their iridescent eyes—it was almost as if they were watching gladiators, back in the Colosseum—but for me, every lunge was pure torture.

  Luc made a series of grabs for Wolfgang’s powerful neck, but was rebuffed each time. After circling the clearing, Luc lunged again, but Wolfgang was ready for him. He darted to the side, but before Luc could retreat, the Houston alpha leaned in and grabbed hold of the red wolf’s neck. I could hear the rip of raw flesh, a yelp of pain. My heart rose to my throat as Wolfgang’s paws slid on the grass and he maneuvered to get a better grip.

  But just as I was sure he was going to clamp his jaws down for the last time, Luc shook him off. The blood stained his matted fur, and the breeze brought me its coppery smell. The others could smell it, too. I could sense the bloodlust rising, and the fear of the three made werewolves huddled together on the other side of the clearing. Their turn would come soon enough.

  Things went downhill fast from there. The wet stain on Luc’s pelt grew, and instead of attacking, he found himself on the defensive, fighting off Wolfgang’s increasingly aggressive lunges. The Houston alpha managed to grab my father’s throat again, and I impulsively moved to help; Lindsey held me back as my father shook free a second time, obviously in trouble.

  As the two circled each other again, my heart folded in on itself. Luc was obviously fading—the blood was all the way down his front now, and he was slower to dodge Wolfgang’s offensive. Luc had just managed to escape another attack when I heard my name, softly, from the woods behind me.

  I turned; there, in the darkness, I could make out the blue flicker of a familiar pair of eyes. The ring on my finger burned suddenly.

  Mark.

  It’s not too late, he said. But Lindsey and Heath didn’t hear—it was as if he spoke the words in my mind. I fumbled in my purse for the bag of amulets, feeling my fingers close on the holy water my mother had gotten me. He’s going down fast, Mark said. He’s weak, and wounded. He doesn’t have a chance. But you can save him.