Wolf in Waiting

by Rebecca Flanders

  I tore my mouth from hers, pressed it against her ear. I drew the lobe into my mouth and she shuddered. My fingers tightened on her buttocks, I whispered into her ear, urgently, hotly, “How does this make you feel, Victoria? Tell me.”

  She twisted against me, arching into the caress of my mouth, moaning, pressing her abdomen into mine, winding her legs around mine. Dizziness soared, the room swirled. I teetered on the brink of control and for a moment, for one wild, impossible, utterly sublime moment, I imagined that she did, too, that it was possible for us to know more, to be more, to go further than either of us had ever imagined.

  But then it was as though a switch had been thrown inside her. The tension seeped out of her body, the thunder of her heartbeat slowed; I could hear her, almost by force of will, regulating her breathing. Her hands, which had been tangled in my hair with wild abandon, now loosened, and she nestled her face in my shoulder, sweetly. She murmured, “Good. You make me feel…good.”

  Oh, how simple it would have been if I were a human. To sweep that sweet pliant bundle of womanhood into my arms and tumble her onto the bed. To inflame her with my kisses, to arouse her fever and with a few swift, urgent thrusts, to ease the fire that threatened to consume my soul. It would be over in moments, and by morning I would barely remember her name. If I were human.

  But for me it was not so easy. I looked at her with eyes that were already losing their focus; I held her with hands that soon would grow too strong to trust with fragile flesh. I whispered hoarsely, “Victoria…I must leave.”

  She dropped her eyes, bowed her head. She said softly, “I understand.”

  But she didn’t. How could she?

  I made myself release her. I looked around distractedly and found a large gray towel hanging from a seashell-shaped hook. I draped it around her shoulders, pulling the two corners tight near her throat. And then I couldn’t stop myself. I caught her face between my hands and I kissed her hard on the mouth. It was almost my undoing.

  I looked at her, trying to focus. The room was dissolving into candlelight and swirling heat, Victoria’s face, Victoria’s eyes. I said, “I wish…” But my voice was going. I couldn’t finish.

  She gripped my arm. Such pain in her eyes. It tore at me, wrenched my heart. “I know,” she said. And then, “Go. Now.”

  I’m ashamed to say I don’t remember leaving her. I dressed, but just barely, and only for the sake of any humans I might meet in the hall. I gave my driver instructions and before the city was behind us, my clothes were off again.

  There are places we know, in every city we go to, everyplace we visit. This is the first thing we learn, these places. The car stopped in such a place and I tumbled out, the crust of icy snow cutting my bare feet, the arctic air flowing over my skin. I spread my arms, I threw back my head, I breathed it in. The city lights were far away, the sky was black and swirling with snow. The field was wide and empty. I began to run.

  How to describe the Change, this wonder, this magic, this miracle that comes over us and is ours alone? And do I want to describe it, or if I did, could any human understand? There are no words, not really. It is a becoming, a stretching and a reaching, an explosion of light and energy; it is, for most of us, a simple relinquishing of the discipline that keeps us in our human form and a return to that which is more natural, more beautiful, more right.

  Few humans have ever seen this transformation. Living today, I know of only one: Michael’s wife. She tells us that, to a human, the mere witnessing of the Change can be an almost spiritual experience, mesmerizingly beautiful, paralytic in its intensity. For me, it is a building of fever, a focusing of desire, a hunger that goes straight through the soul. That night, the desire had a purpose, the hunger had a name: Victoria.

  A leap, a cry, a shudder of physical thrill that started in the core of me and exploded outward into the night. Starlight, snowflakes, wind and ice. Victoria. She was the fire that fueled my soul; she was the scent that clung to my skin; she was the hunger that ached in my belly. Cold wind rushed through my fur, snow flew beneath my paws, snow-laden boughs slapped my body as I ran, seeking and celebrating, experiencing the magic of my nature and wanting more…wanting more. Because in my mind, another form ran beside me as the night streamed away, hers was the heartbeat that pulsed with mine, hers the breath that frosted on the cold air. Victoria. Victoria.

  Before that night, I had never known desire. After it, I would never be the same.

  I was later than I liked arriving at the office the next morning. The run had exhausted but not relieved me, and all I could think about was seeing Victoria. What I was going to say to her I had no idea.

  When I reached the executive suites, I inquired of the human secretary whose name I could never remember, “Is Ms. St. Clare in her office?” I paused to scoop up some message slips and pretended to be interested in them; the only thing I was really interested in was the woman’s reply.

  “As a matter of fact, there’s a Madame St. Clare in your office. She insisted upon being allowed to wait there. I hope I did the right thing.”

  I frowned and went to my office, so distracted that I honestly did not know who the child was talking about until I opened the door of my office, and caught the scent of home.

  “Grand-mère!” I exclaimed in genuine delight, and closed the door behind me.

  Clarice St. Clare turned from the window, smiling, and opened her arms to welcome me. She was wearing a designer suit and a wide-brimmed, fur-lined hat, kidskin gloves and a single strand of pearls. Her thick silver hair was beautifully coiffed in an elegant lover’s knot, her makeup lightly and flawlessly applied. She was close to eighty years old and to me, as to most others of our kind, she would always be the most beautiful woman in the world.

  We embraced, and I let myself sink into the scents of childhood: warm fur and sunshine, baking bread and steamed milk, evergreen, wood smoke, eiderdown, wild-flowers, a combination of all this and more that was the unique essence of her perfume. I kissed the corner of her mouth. She stepped back and patted my cheek, beaming at me.

  She was not, strictly speaking, my grandmother, any more than her husband, Sebastian St. Clare, was technically my grandfather. But they were, in the grand sense, parents to the entire pack, and were thus addressed, informally and affectionately, as grand-mère and grand-père. To me, of course, because of our familial relationship, they were more.

  In our culture, it is not uncommon for community, or pack, ties to be closer than those of the immediate family, particularly since we are often sent off to school or for other training at an early age. I adore my mother, who is a brilliant scientist presently stationed in Hong Kong, and have enormous respect for my father, who has achieved quite some renown in the world financial market. But we rarely see one another except for family or pack holidays, and in times of pain or crisis it is not to either one of them I turn, but to this woman. It seemed only natural, then, that she should be here now, when I needed her most.

  Perhaps too natural.

  I took her hands in mine, remembering to smile even though she would smell my uneasiness. “To what do I owe this most delightful surprise?”

  She laughed lightly, reading through me just as I knew she would. “Darling, you are transparent, but at least your manners are as fine as ever. As a matter of fact, I was on my way back from the spring fashion shows in Paris, and you were on my mind. I hope it’s not too inconvenient?”

  I gestured her toward the small sofa by the fire, relaxing a little. I was glad to see her. “Only if you can’t stay. Then I shall be devastated.”

  Tea was ready in the silver service, as it always was when I arrived, and the fire, aided by gas logs, burned merrily on the grate. She took off her gloves and I poured. When we were comfortably seated with our cups in hand, I inquired with as much sangfroid as possible, “And how is Grand-père?”

  She smiled and patted my knee reassuringly. “Relax, mon cher, he didn’t send me to spy on you. I should be very surpris
ed if he even knows I’m here.”

  I dropped my eyes in apology, though in fact I was relieved. I was sending him dutiful daily reports and I had enough on my mind without worrying about having him peering over my shoulder. I sipped my tea. “So tell me about the fashion shows. Are hemlines up or down? Did you buy tons of lovely frocks?”

  Her eyes danced with reproval and indulgence. “Very well, you naughty boy, I’ll come to the point. I didn’t fly several thousand miles out of my way to talk bustiers and kick pleats with you.”

  I murmured, “I’m sorry to hear it.” But I was not so sure how anxious I was to know the real reason she was here. It would have been pleasant to spend a morning immersed in nothing of more consequence than the world of fashion.

  She sipped her tea. “In fact, chéri, what I have to discuss with you is something of a personal nature. I had rather hoped you might bring it up before now, but then it occurred to me, with all that has happened so quickly in your life, you simply might not have had a chance to give the matter thought. So I hope you don’t mind if I’ve taken the liberty.”

  I uncovered the plate of sweet breads on the tea tray and offered her one. She shook her head and I took one for myself. “I don’t understand. I’m sure there are hundreds of things I haven’t had a chance to give thought to yet. I hope this one isn’t very important.”

  She smiled at me. “Only the most important thing you’ll ever do in your life.” She laid a hand gently on my arm. “Noel, darling, you can’t delay any longer. It’s time you took a mate.”

  The honey-flavored roll tasted gummy in my mouth. I stared at her a fraction of a moment longer than was strictly polite, I was that taken aback. Was it coincidence that the matter of my marital status should become so important to her just when my own emotions were in such turmoil, or had someone decided I was lavishing a bit too much attention on Victoria St. Clare? And did it matter? Whatever had brought her here, she was right. It was time we discussed this.

  I swallowed the remnants of the sweet roll and sipped again from my cup. “I wasn’t aware there was any hurry.”

  “But of course there is, love,” she replied with another maternal pat of my knee. “You’re at your reproductive peak. The pack is waiting for you to produce an heir. Until you do, or at least until you are well mated and ready to start your family, you will never be taken seriously. You will never be allowed to assume full command.”

  Of course. It was perfectly sensible. In all our civilized history, no unmated werewolf—male or female—had sat on the throne. It simply wasn’t done. As for why, well, I

  wouldn’t trust a ruler who couldn’t attract a mate. Would you?

  I had simply never thought of it in terms of myself before. Or if I had, it was far down on my list of priorities.

  “Unless you have someone already in mind…” She hesitated inquiringly, but I said nothing. She went on, “I’ve been looking over some available candidates, all from the best families, of course. I thought the best way to do this might be to have a weekend at the castle, next month, perhaps, and invite them all.”

  Isn’t there a human fairy tale about a prince and a ball and hundreds of young ladies coming from all over the kingdom to win his favor? I wonder if that poor fool could have possibly felt as awkward as I did at the prospect.

  I said, disbelieving, “Do you mean…to audition?”

  She laughed. “Not exactly. I’m sure you know most of them already. Stephanie Lafevre, Yvette Dansonier, Patrice St. Clare and her third cousin Delancy, both lovely girls…”

  The list went on, and I had to get up, pacing a few steps away, as the names started to blur together in my head. Yes, I knew them, many of them intimately. None of them had made me feel even remotely the way Victoria had last night.

  “How do I choose?” I asked.

  I realized I had interrupted her, but was suddenly too disturbed to think of apologizing. I turned to her urgently. “How can I know which one to pick for my mate above all the others? How will I know which one is right?”

  She smiled. “Well, the most reliable way is to listen to one’s heart, I suppose.”

  “What if my heart says the wrong thing? What if I make a mistake?”

  She must have seen something in my eyes before I could hide it because there was a flicker of concern in hers, and she looked at me more closely. I made certain my face was unreadable.

  She said carefully, “I wouldn’t worry about making a mistake if I were you, Noel. As long as you choose a girl of good character and fine family…”

  Who is capable of giving you an heir. The words hung unspoken.

  “What if I don’t love her?”

  She smiled confidently. “You will love her, when you are mated.”

  “What if I don’t?” I insisted, feeling a little desperate now. “What if I mate with the wrong woman and she’s inside my head forever and I don’t want her there? What if I don’t love her?”

  She set aside her cup and came to me, slipping her arm through mine, her face filled with tenderness and compassion. “Darling Noel, it doesn’t happen that way. You won’t choose foolishly or impulsively. You’ll know when it’s right. You’ll choose some bright young lady…”

  But not as bright as Victoria, I thought.

  “Who makes you laugh…”

  But who couldn’t have Victoria’s quirky sense of humor.

  “And makes you ache when you think of her…”

  Just like I do now.

  “And you would give up the world for her.”

  I thought helplessly, Yes.

  “You will love her because you can’t help loving her, because you can’t imagine a time when she wasn’t a part of you, because, my dear, dear boy, once you are mated you will never be alone again in thought or deed, ever. This is your destiny and it’s a beautiful thing.”

  Yes. My destiny. Because Michael had turned his back on his destiny, I could not. I had what was his whether I wanted it or not, whether I chose it or not…and could I really say I would have had it otherwise?

  I murmured, mostly to myself, “To never be alone again…how lovely that sounds. For I think I have been more alone these past six months than I ever have in my life.”

  Until Victoria, that is.

  She squeezed my arm, pressing her face to my shoulder in a swift, firm gesture of affection. “My darling,” she said. “You are loved. I know it’s difficult now, and no doubt your life seems very confusing, but never doubt our care for you.”

  I wanted to believe her.

  I gave her arm a single affectionate caress and returned to the fire, picking up my teacup. “I’ve been thinking of going to visit Michael.” I hadn’t, really, but suddenly it didn’t seem like such a bad idea. Michael, who was to blame for all this. Michael, who had given up so much and caused so much pain for the love of a woman. Michael, who, with his human wife, surely knew deprivations of the flesh I could not begin to fathom. It began to seem, in fact, like a very good idea. Michael.

  Her smile was, as far as I could tell, without artifice. “I am fond of his wife.”

  “But she’s not,” I said carefully, “what you would have chosen for your son.”

  “No,” she agreed. Her eyes held mine steadily. “But then, it was not my choice to make, was it?”

  She walked back to the sofa, where she had left her gloves. She began to pull them on, giving attention to the fit of each finger, and she said, “It’s not a good idea to dwell on the past, Noel, for any of us. And the only way to prevent that is to move forward. Having said that…” She stretched out her hand to check the fit of the glove, then looked at me. “I think we can all agree that Michael’s affaire du coeur, however fortunate the consequences may have been for him, was a misalliance with disastrous potential, and the pack can’t afford another such indulgence. Can we?”

  I felt the muscles tighten at the back of my neck. But I held her gaze. “No,” I agreed.

  There was compassion in her smile, re
gret and genuine tenderness. She was my spiritual adviser, moral guide, mate to our ruler, symbolic mother to our entire race…but she was also, at that moment, my grand-mère. She came to me, and kissed my cheek. “It is not so difficult, petitcher, you’ll see. Just be careful not to mistake infatuation for adoration.”

  I was certain then. She knew about Victoria.

  And I knew she was right.

  She said, “Thank you for the tea, my dear.”

  I made some protesting noises about her leaving.

  “But I must. You have a job to do and I have a husband at home…and several dozen boxes from designer houses arriving even as we speak!”

  She turned at the door, her expression confident and relaxed. “So, shall we arrange our little weekend for next month then? Around the fifteenth?”

  “That’s less than three weeks away.”

  Again, her expression was sympathetic, but her tone was determined. “There’s really no point in delaying, is there?”

  And because I had no choice, I agreed, “No, there’s not. The fifteenth is fine.”

  When she was gone, I went back to the sofa and sat down, and spent a long time staring into the fire. I felt very old.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Victoria

  There is no such thing as prostitution among our kind; there are no sex crimes of any kind, as a matter of fact. The concept of one sex using another for anything other than mutual delight is one we find difficult to understand. I read a great many novels written by humans, however, and I know that the average woman, having been made love to and then deserted in the way Noel left me, would have felt very badly used indeed.