Wolf's Choice

by Laura Taylor

  For this experiment, she’d lined up five rocks, each an inch or so further away than the last. The first was just an inch from her hand, and she concentrated, making that one disappear quite easily. She brought it back, set it to the side, and moved on to the next one. That one went too, but the third was more difficult. She felt a build up of charge against her skin, but then suddenly her hand cramped up, forcing her to relax and shake her fingers out before trying again. It was a common side effect of pushing her powers too far, she was learning, but not necessarily an indication that she couldn’t go any further. Like any new skill, it was just a matter of practice, trying new techniques, approaching the problem from different angles.

  This time, instead of using one hand, she held up both, and was pleased when the rock disappeared. She brought it back and tried again with one hand, getting accustomed to the feel of reaching through empty space to focus on the object, and though it was an effort, the rock obediently disappeared. Okay, so three inches was possible. She brought the rock back, set it aside and concentrated on the fourth-

  “That’s an interesting trick you’ve got there.”

  Genna leapt a foot in the air, cracking her head on the branch she was sheltered under as she heard Sempre’s harsh voice cut through the silence. Fuck! She’d been so focused on her experiments that she hadn’t been paying enough attention to her surroundings, hadn’t heard the woman approach until it was far too late.

  “I discovered it yesterday,” Genna said, rubbing her head and making an effort to look embarrassed and fawning. “I thought I should try it out a little more before I told you about it. I didn’t want to disappoint you if I couldn’t do it properly.” It was a speech she’d rehearsed repeatedly, aware that if Sempre ever discovered not just what she could do, but how long she’d been keeping it a secret, she’d be in deep trouble. She was royally screwed as it was, the greedy look in Sempre’s eyes confirmation enough of her selfish desires, but there was no point making it any worse than it needed to be.

  “Really,” Sempre said, her glee at the discovery meaning she wasn’t paying too much attention to the details, and Genna held her breath as she wondered if she’d got away with her lie. “Come out then, and show me what you can do,” Sempre commanded, standing back so Genna could crawl out from beneath the branch.

  “It’s not much, really,” Genna said nervously. “I can make small things disappear. Like this rock…” She set one on the tree branch and placed her hand over it, making it vanish. And then brought it back a moment later. “They don’t stay away for long, though. It’s like I drop them, if I try for too long, and they slip back into reality. And I was just trying to see how far away things could be for it still to work.”

  “And how far away is that?” Sempre asked, a look of cold calculation in her eyes. Genna dreaded what was going to happen when they got back to camp.

  “About three inches,” Genna admitted, trying to look defeated at the admission. “I just can’t reach any further than that. It’s not very impressive,” she added, hoping to dissuade Sempre from some of her enthusiasm.

  “Well, no,” Sempre agreed, and Genna felt a moment of relief. “But you’re still young. As a human, and as a shifter. This is a remarkable talent,” Sempre said, putting an arm around her shoulder and leading her back towards the camp. “And with the right help, it can be turned into the most amazing of gifts. We must discuss this with Lita,” she crooned, making Genna’s gut churn. Lita, if it was possible, was even worse than Sempre. Sempre might be strict and angry and aggressive, but Lita was manipulative, devious, with all manner of tricks up her sleeve to twist people in knots. “You’ll have to be trained,” Sempre decided. “Give it some time, but don’t worry. We’ll help you develop this talent to its full potential.”

  Genna felt cold as she trod the overgrown path back to the camp. Training? ‘Help’ with her talent? Not likely, she thought, a heavy weight settling in her chest. They were going to enslave her, force her to perform ever greater feats of magic, punish her for every failure and ask for more and more with every success. And then, when she reached the limits of the magic’s natural reach, they would delve into the spirit world, steal power that was not rightfully theirs, and set Genna on a path that would suck the life right out of her, just as it had done to Lita.

  Baron stalked out onto the manor’s back lawn, feeling uncharacteristically irritable. Tensions were still running high around the Den, with ongoing arguments continuing to break out about Miller’s acceptance into Il Trosa, despite the fact that more than three weeks had passed since the decision had been made. When Baron had told the Council the result of the vote, Eleanor had seemed more amused than surprised, and her apparent lack of concern for how seriously things could go wrong if Miller betrayed them was aggravating.

  In addition to that, John had firmly refused to move back into Baron’s bedroom, despite repeated attempts to reason with the boy. He’d collected the last of his things, with Caroline acting as his chaperone – something Baron had seen as completely unnecessary and almost as infuriating as his boyfriend’s unwillingness to see reason – and then spent the past few weeks being belligerent and insulting whenever Baron asked him to do anything.

  Baron’s own moods had suffered as a result, and he’d had to work extra hard on keeping his temper, when Miller’s presence was already causing more than enough strife as it was. Suddenly turning celibate after years of a regular sexual relationship was putting him on edge, and while he didn’t hesitate to take matters into his own hands, so to speak, he was still finding the lack of intimacy frustrating. Going back to his room at night, to be met with a cold, empty bed, was just as jarring now as it had been that first night when John had made his dramatic exit. Sitting watching the television, he still expected a small, warm body to suddenly appear and curl up next to him. Coffee no longer arrived in his bedroom in the morning, a trudge down to the kitchen required to acquire a cup of the hot, black wake-me-up. A thousand minor adjustments had had to be made, and it was startling to realise how closely his and John’s lives had become entwined, in a relationship that was ostensibly only to keep the boy stable and stop him from wreaking havoc on the rest of the Den.

  But the problem wasn’t just an emotional one. He’d quietly pulled Andre aside one evening, needing to have a serious chat with him about John’s behaviour. “Every now and then, he gets out of control,” he’d explained to Andre grimly. “He’s got a sharp temper and enough trauma behind him that he can’t always see reason. You’ve been here long enough to see how that sometimes plays out. In the past, it was my job to talk him down, or physically restrain him, if that didn’t work. Given the way things are between us now… I’m afraid that responsibility is going to have to fall on you.”

  Andre had looked suitably surprised by that. “What about Caroline? Or Tank? They’ve known him for a lot longer, and-”

  “They’ll have a go at trying to reason with him, I’ve no doubt about that,” Baron had agreed. “But if the shit hits the fan… the truth is, you and I are the only two people on this estate physically capable of beating him in a fight. Silas can take him in human form, but as a wolf, he’s unstoppable. He’s beaten Tank in a fight before. Damn near killed Caroline once. I hope it never comes to that, but you need to be aware that if things get out of hand… I’m going to need you to take him down. By whatever means necessary.” His voice shook as he said it, the combined emotion of having to acknowledge his own failure in managing a member of his pack, and the dread of seeing the boy hurt.

  Andre had nodded, accepting the grim duty with resignation, and neither of them had spoken of the matter again.

  The other thing that had been trying Baron’s patience lately was the ongoing status fights that had been plaguing the Den. Since Andre’s arrival, things had been a little tense as he’d worked to find his place in the pecking order. Now, with Miller here, a new round of fights had started up, only this time, it wasn’t a case of friendly bouts to test
each other’s strength. The more recent fights were a result of very real grudges being held, as various people objected to the result of the vote and sought to trump those who had sided with Miller. And they were met head on in return by those who saw the resentment as a lack of respect for due protocol, and were more determined than ever to hold their own ranks.

  The latest development on that front was that Skip, of all people, had decided to challenge Cohen. It was years since Skip had fought anyone, aside from brief, half-hearted scuffles as a newer but stronger wolf slowly climbed the ranks. Her strategy had been simple and obvious, right from the time she’d been converted. Skip hated fighting, hated conflict of any kind, so she’d fought her way up the ranks just far enough to avoid the regular squabbling that went on at the bottom of the pecking order, but no further than absolutely necessary. She wanted a quiet, peaceful life, and seemed to have found the perfect spot to achieve that. Her sudden determination to rise in the ranks was uncharacteristic, and all the more unsettling because of it.

  Out on the lawn, Baron sighed as a crowd of spectators gathered in the light drizzle. Skip had made no secret of the fact that she supported Miller, and Cohen, her opponent, had voted against him. As far as Baron was aware, there had never been any animosity between Skip and Cohen, but as they eyed each other across the lawn now, there seemed to be a very real anger in Cohen’s eyes, and an equally fierce determination in Skip’s.

  “Begin,” Baron called, when they were both in wolf form and ready to fight, and they both threw themselves into the battle, fur flying, snarls echoing around the lawn. Far from the ritualised posturing and feinting blows that were common in fights of low rank, this fight was as real as they came. Baron shifted into wolf form, keeping a close eye on the battle, lest he be required to step in and cool things off, if anyone got too serious about making their point.

  Miller stood beside Mark, watching the fight with an odd mix of interest and trepidation. Getting to know Skip over the past few weeks had been hard work, not because she was particularly evasive or laconic about her views, but because at every turn, she seemed a complete mess of contradictions. Meek and yet fierce. Polite, but not willing to let her opinions be pushed aside. Compassionate, but also realistic, sympathising with Miller’s position in the Den, while telling him in the same breath that life as a wolf was tough, and if he wanted to make anything of himself, he was going to have to be tougher.

  So far, Miller had been having difficulty figuring out how to relate to the members of the Den. He didn’t particularly want to let people walk all over him, but getting in people’s faces and standing up for himself just tended to cause them to become even more belligerent. He had yet to find a happy medium that allowed him to stand his ground, but didn’t piss everyone off.

  But in the process, he was also developing a strong affection for Skip. Along with Mark, she was one of the very few people who seemed genuinely interested in getting to know him, and more and more, he found himself looking forward to the regular runs they took around the estate, the long chats in the evenings after dinner, her girlish enthusiasm every time she discovered a new program or managed to hack a new database. She was, in a word, captivating, and he was now being forced to admit that he felt something more than simple friendship for her. And yet, for all the time she spent with him, she seemed to have a natural hesitancy about developing a deeper relationship, so he’d held back, not making any obvious overtures about his feelings for her. She was warm, genuine, compassionate, and yet oddly shy, after their fiery first meeting.

  As he stood watching her fight, he was confident that she could handle herself. She gave no ground, didn’t whine or whimper when Cohen succeeded in injuring her, and refused to relent when she scored blows of her own. But even so, he was concerned at the idea of her being hurt. She had a fragile exterior, with an inner core of solid steel, and it was never a given which way she would respond to any particular situation.

  The yells of encouragement and jeers of derision were loud around them as the two wolves continued to fight. Miller was a long way from understanding all the social complexities of shifter life, but some of the insults seemed to go well beyond good-natured heckling.

  “I’ve seen dogs fight better than you!” someone yelled, as Skip was knocked off her feet, and Miller had learned enough in the past few weeks to know that calling someone a dog was one of the worst insults a shifter could throw at another.

  But Skip wasn’t without her own supporters. “One little bite, and you start whimpering like a puppy!” someone else yelled at Cohen, who put his head down and bared his teeth in response. Miller was a little startled to realise that he’d started to growl himself, a strong, protective instinct rising up as Cohen bit Skip on the back leg – the same one where she’d received her bullet wound. Though still quiet, and far more reticent than other people’s wolves seemed to be, his own animal side had slowly begun making its presence felt more often, refusing to back down from a challenge, or, like now, assailing Miller with a fierce need to protect and defend when someone or something he cared about was threatened.

  But true to form, Skip succeeded in surprising him yet again. She spun around, leaping on top of Cohen as her leg started bleeding, and for a moment, it was impossible to tell which wolf was which, legs everywhere, the two furry bodies tumbling over each other again and again… until Skip came up with a mouthful of Cohen’s scruff in her teeth, shaking her opponent viciously as he tried to regain his feet and failed. A moment more of panicked flailing, and the fight was over.

  “Skip now outranks Cohen,” Baron announced, resuming his human form. “Somebody help these two get cleaned up. I’m sick of seeing blood tracked across the carpet.” He turned and stalked away without another word, leaving the gathered spectators to grumble about the result. Heron led Skip back towards the house, volunteering to treat her wounds, while Kwan and Aaron did the same for Cohen. The rest of the group slowly began to drift away.

  “It’s not as bad as it looks,” Mark said softly from beside Miller, as he watched Skip head for the house. “Baron would never have let her fight if her wounds weren’t healed well enough.”

  “She’s bleeding,” Miller contradicted him, though even he could see that the wounds weren’t serious.

  There was no reply, and he glanced at Mark to see him watching him carefully. “You’ve been spending a fair amount of time with Skip lately,” he observed. “Sounds like you’re developing a soft spot for her.”

  “Is that a problem?” Miller asked automatically. Some days it seemed no matter what he did, there was someone ready and eager to complain about it, and though Mark was more willing to befriend him than most, Miller was still cautious about doing anything that would antagonise people.

  “It’s not a problem per se,” Mark replied. “But it does come with some potential complications. Just to get things clear… what exactly are your intentions towards her?”

  Miller snorted in disbelief. “That’s a little formal, isn’t it? What do you want me to say? That I’m going to propose marriage and make an honest woman out of her?”

  Mark let out a laugh at that, causing Miller to scowl all the more. “Relax. Shit, you’re really on the defensive, you know that? I wasn’t trying to do the intimidating older brother routine. I just meant, are you interested in her romantically, or is it just a friendship thing?”

  Miller blushed at his own tendency to meet opposition head on. “I’m not really sure at the moment. I mean, I’m interested. But I’m having a hard time working out whether she is.”

  Mark nodded. “Skip’s a little more complicated than most people. Like I’ve said before, other people’s stories aren’t mine to tell. But I would strongly suggest that in her case, you take things slow. She has good reason to be nervous about intimate relationships.”

  The implications of Mark’s words were obvious. “Somebody’s hurt her,” Miller concluded easily.

  “Not my place to say,” Mark replied enigmatica
lly, but the dark look in his eyes confirmed Miller’s suspicions, and he immediately resolved not to do anything that might make Skip uncomfortable or that might cause her to question her trust in him.

  “How are things going with you and Dee?” he asked, aware of an awkward silence developing between them, as he and Mark turned and headed for the house.

  “Making progress,” Mark said. “We’ve had arguments before, and while we don’t always end up agreeing with each other, we usually manage to see the other person’s point of view. Don’t worry.” He gave Miller a wry smile. “We’ll work it out in the end.”

  In the ensuite bathroom adjoining Skip’s bedroom, Skip waited patiently while Heron rubbed antiseptic cream into the bite wound on her back leg. Her fur hadn’t grown back yet, so without the usual thick layer in the way, the bite had hurt more than it normally would, but Skip bore the pain bravely. She’d been itching to fight Cohen ever since she’d got back from her adventure in the wilderness with Miller, feeling bold and daring after holding her own against a Noturatii soldier. She’d had to wait patiently for four long weeks while her wounds healed – Heron had already checked the surgery scars, and confirmed that none of them had reopened during the fight – but the urge to get out there and kick some arse had been relentless, a far cry from her usually placid personality, and Skip had been both baffled and excited by the changes in herself.

  Once Heron had finished with the wounds, Skip shifted, helping her clean up the first aid supplies, then wandered into the bedroom. “Could I ask you something?” she said hesitantly, stopping in front of the mirror and staring at her reflection critically.