by Eileen Wilks
A minute later, face grim, she stood and slipped the phone back in her pocket. “I have to get back to the city right away. There’s been another murder.”
RULE smelled his oldest brother before he saw him. Benedict didn’t smell of any special alarm, however, so Rule continued with the ceremony, even as part of his mind wondered what had brought Benedict here, away from the Rho. It was unlikely to be good news.
But only part of his mind. The man part. Most of him was rapt in the sheer immediacy of the world—the feel of grass and dirt beneath the pads of his feet. The ruffled texture of sounds made by the people surrounding him and the Kyffin Rho. Though those attending stood quietly, there was a shifted foot now and then, the breeze hushing through bodies, hair. The breaths of those nearest him. And the air itself, so rich with scent it was like drawing the world inside every time he inhaled, then exhaling himself back into the waiting world. If vision was flatter, colors fewer and less vivid, the loss passed ungrieved amid such wealth.
He wanted to run—run for the sheer joy of running. But the man part wasn’t gone or eclipsed. The terms of the alliance had been announced while he and Jasper were two-footed, but their agreement was meaningless without the submission. Rule waited, motionless, as the Kyffin Rho approached.
Jasper was a handsome wolf, slighter and sleeker than Rule, with a brownish dun coat and yellow eyes that reminded Rule of Cullen’s wolf form. He was faster than greased lightning, from what Rule remembered from youthful tussles, and every bit as alpha as a Rho must be. Submission did not come easily for him.
He also had an unfortunate tendency to lose himself in the wolf. Which was why, when he reached Rule, his hackles were raised, and the scent of seru was strong. And why he immediately flopped down, belly up, like a puppy waiting for a rub.
There were a few muffled laughs. Decidedly anticlimactic, Rule thought, lowering his head to sniff the offered belly. Usually there was some growling, a brief combat before submission. Not with the intent to do real harm, but to demonstrate the strength of each and lend authority to the eventual submission. Jasper had told Rule ruefully that he didn’t think even a mock combat was a good idea. He was likely to get caught up in it. Rule didn’t think less of him for it. A good leader understands his weaknesses as well as his strengths.
He found a little fear-scent amid the seru, the wolf smell, and Jasper’s individual scent, but not the mingled stink that spoke of guilt.
Having accepted the submission, Rule stepped back, and the ritual was complete. By not ripping out that offered belly, he’d accepted that Jasper had played no part in the attack on his father, restoring Jasper’s honor in the eyes of the clans. In return, Kyffin would subordinate itself to Nokolai for a year and a day.
Usually at this point there’d be a general shifting, as some members of both clans—mostly the younger ones—took the opportunity to socialize in wolf form. Rule had expected to stay in this form to act as host and make sure the play didn’t turn rough. But he sought the source of his brother’s scent and found Benedict standing at the front of the circle of watchers, next to Rule’s clothes.
Benedict made the small, circular gesture that said, Change.
Regretfully, Rule opened himself, reached for the order the earth required of him, and let the wildness sort him. It was easy, almost painless, with his paws on the earth of the ritual grounds. In seconds, he stood naked on two feet, with his head higher off the ground than before, and the world blunted to all senses except vision.
Jasper had sprung to his feet and was regarding Rule with his head tipped quizzically.
“I’m sorry. Benedict has need of me, but please—enjoy the friendship of Nokolai in whichever form pleases you.” Rule glanced around, caught the eye of one of the older Councilors, and made the same gesture Benedict had. The man’s eyes widened slightly, but he shifted obediently. Seth could serve as four-footed host—a necessity as well as a courtesy. Seth could keep the younger Nokolai in line. They were accustomed to obeying him.
Jasper glanced at the Councilor wolf, at Benedict, and back at Rule. He nodded and sat, waiting for Seth to trot over. Rule hurried to Benedict.
“What?” he said, catching the clothes his brother tossed him.
“Your detective needs to go back to the city right away.” A hint of a smile ghosted across Benedict’s blunt features. “She wasn’t happy at being told she had to wait for your return.”
Rule stepped into his jeans. “What happened?”
“A phone call. There’s been another murder.”
Rule cursed, zipped the jeans, and stamped one foot into a shoe. “Who? Where?”
“She didn’t say, but of course I heard. She isn’t aware of that, I think. Therese Martin, 1012 Humstead Avenue, Apartment Twelve.”
“A woman?” Rule asked, his voice sharp with disbelief. “Attacked by a lupus?”
“The cops think so. You know her?”
“I don’t . . .” But the name was vaguely familiar. “Humstead is near the club. I may have met her. Dammit all to hell.” He was supposed to take Toby to the creek. He’d counted on that. Toby was counting on it, too. This sudden departure was a bitter disappointment.
But unavoidable. He started for the house at a trot. Bystanders, both two- and four-legged, saw him coming and moved out of the way, watching with startled curiosity as Rule and Benedict moved into an easy run.
“Toby?” Rule made the name a question.
“Our father said he would explain to the boy. He won’t let Nettie put him in Sleep until he’s spoken with him. You have your own explanations to make. To your Chosen.”
There was nothing he could say to that, so Rule kept silent. Lily wasn’t going to accept the truth easily.
“Isen told her about the connection between the Citizenship Bill, the attack on him, and the murder she’s investigating—after she told him you aren’t a suspect anymore. She has evidence.”
“She what?” Rule should have been relieved, but the first flush of feeling that hit was anger. She’d told his father, but not him. A second later, he understood, though it didn’t make him feel any better. She hadn’t told him because she wanted walls between them—the higher the better.
The good news, he told himself, was that by speaking of the conspiracy to her, Isen had lifted his ban on revealing anything to the police. He’d be free to decide how much to tell her now.
“Would she lie about the evidence?” Benedict asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so, but how can I be sure? I’m learning her as quickly as I can, but I don’t know her yet.”
“I suppose not.” Benedict was silent for several footfalls, then said, “Our father likes her.”
That lifted Rule’s heart slightly. He’d known why Isen sent for Lily, of course. Benedict would have told him about her, and his father had wanted to meet Rule’s Chosen. And the Rho had needed to assess one who—little though she knew it—would soon be part of his clan.
Or so Rule prayed.
Lily was waiting by the car with Toby. Either she really liked suits, or she found them convenient for hiding her shoulder holster. This one was black—a comment, perhaps, on the limited palette he employed. Her hair was pulled into a French braid, giving him a clear view of the smooth line of her jaw and cheek and the grave expression on her face.
Hunger hit and hit hard, clenching the muscles of his stomach. His cock stirred. By the time he reached them, Lily would be able to tell how glad he was to see her.
She was intent on whatever Toby was telling her. Rule slowed to a walk and caught a few of their words, and a smile eased some of the tightness. Though she must have been seriously impatient, Lily was “talking Spanish” to Toby.
Then Mick walked out of the house, and Rule’s smile slipped.
Benedict spoke his name sharply.
“I know, I know.” Rule sighed, stopping. “Control. It wasn’t hard to find at the proving grounds just now.”
“You like Jasper.”
And that was the sorry truth. He liked Jasper, and he didn’t much like Mick these days. “You haven’t told him about Lily.”
“Only Isen. I suspect he told Nettie.”
“Probably. She won’t say anything.” Mick would have scented Rule by now, given the direction of the wind, but he didn’t glance their way as he joined Lily and Toby. He was smiling. He said something flattering about Lily’s hair, then laughed when she gave him her cop look.
Rule knew women wanted him. They always had, and giving them pleasure was his delight. But that pleasure was based on sensual excitement, with a soupçon of celebrity sweetening the mix for some. Mick didn’t attract that sort of instant feminine notice, but women enjoyed him. They liked his teasing, his playfulness.
It was an adolescent’s dream to be lusted after by every woman you met, Rule thought. He was an adult. He’d rather be liked. He wanted . . . no, needed for Lily to like him, and he was afraid she’d like Mick better.
And that was just pathetic. He dragged his attention back where it needed to be. “The next time the Rho is awake, let him know that I took his speaking of the conspiracy as permission to speak of it also.”
“I will.” Benedict held out his hand. “And, when the time comes, I will welcome the one chosen for you.”
“Thank you.” He gripped Benedict’s forearm. He hadn’t doubted that his family would accept Lily, but the gap between acceptance and true welcome can be painful.
Benedict returned Rule’s grip briefly, then loped off toward the house. Rule walked the rest of the way, making sure his body wasn’t putting out aggressive signals. He might not enjoy watching Mick flirt with Lily, but he didn’t want to get into a pissing contest with his brother right now. Not with Toby watching.
Not to mention Lily. “You didn’t have to rush,” she said, frostbite chilly, when he reached them. “Mick said he’d take me back.”
“You’ll return with me.” Rule swung Toby up into his arms, cherishing the feel of his son’s body.
“That’s not necessary.” She glanced in his general direction, then away.
“I’m afraid it is.”
“I don’t want you to go,” Toby announced. “You came back early for her, and now you’re leaving, and I don’t like it. Uncle Mick can take Lily back.”
Rule leaned his forehead against Toby’s. “We’ll miss our trip to the creek. That sucks.”
Toby nodded.
“And neither you nor Lily understands why. But your grandfather is staying awake, postponing his healing, so he can explain to you.”
“You really have to go?”
Rule nodded.
The jut of Toby’s bottom lip suggested he didn’t think an explanation was a fair trade for his father’s presence. He sighed hugely and wiggled, ready to be put down. Every time Rule saw him, he was less willing to be held—a passage Rule knew was necessary but still grieved over. He set the boy on his feet.
“I’ll have to go talk to Grandfather so he can sleep and get better. He’s all messed up right now,” Toby told Lily. “Did you see him? But he’s growing things back. He’ll be okay soon.”
“I’m sure he will. Ms. Two Horses will see to it.”
“Yeah. Nettie can fix most anything. Bye, Lily.”
“Hasta la vista,” she said. “That means ‘see you later.’ I like it better than good-bye.”
“Yeah.” He turned to Rule, his face solemn. “Hasta la vista. You’ll call me tonight?”
Rule ruffled Toby’s hair. “I will.” He called every night, but Toby needed to hear the promise often. Not for the first time, Rule cursed the mother who hadn’t been able to deal with her son’s nature. Such rejection cracked the soul in ways a father couldn’t wholly repair.
Who would know that better than he? But he, at least, had had Clanhome. “Math,” he reminded Toby, who grimaced, then headed for the house at less than his usual headlong pace.
“He’s disappointed,” Mick said, watching the door close on Toby. “I know I’m a poor substitute, but I can take him to the creek. I don’t have to drive back until tonight.”
“Thanks.” Mick had always been crazy about Toby. But then, Rule didn’t doubt that Mick was basically a good man. And what lupus didn’t rejoice in children?
“Though I’d like that explanation, too.” Mick’s expression wasn’t that different from Toby’s, Rule thought—mulish, with a hint of hurt feelings. “I’d like to know why you don’t trust me with the lovely detective.”
“Good God, Mick, it’s nothing to do with you.”
“And you don’t intend to tell me.”
“Not now. And the plain fact is, I owe Lily an explanation, not you.”
Mick stared at him a moment longer, then gave a quick shrug. “I guess you’d better leave so Lily can go solve crime. At least this time they can’t pin it on you. You’re alibied by a cop.”
Lily shook her head. “I don’t yet know the time of death, so we have no idea who’s alibied. But I do have to go.”
“Then I’ll tell you hasta la vista, too,” Mick said, the warmth in his voice matched by his smile. “This surely won’t be the only time we meet. The Lady wouldn’t be so unkind.”
“Hasta la vista, Mick. Rule—now would be good.”
It wasn’t her voice that gave Rule the idea, though the way it changed between speaking to Mick and speaking to him irked him. Nor was it Mick’s flirting. It was simple courtesy, after all, to let a woman know you appreciated her.
No, it was the way Lily refused to see him, as if she could pretend she didn’t feel the pull as long as she didn’t look directly at him. He took two steps closer, stopping near enough that her scent welcomed him, even if the rest of her did not. The jump of his heartbeat warned him to make this quick.
“Yes, we’ll go,” he said. “But first . . .” And he leaned in to plant a kiss on her frowning mouth.
He expected a punch, and not just from the kiss. He’d already decided to let her connect. But he didn’t expect to land on his butt in the dirt.
Mick hooted with laughter. Rule stared up at her, astonished. She’d hooked her leg behind his knee, pulled—and down he went, before his mouth even touched hers.
“Ask, don’t assume.” She opened the car door. “Oh, and you can give me that explanation,” she said, climbing in, “on the way back.” And she slammed the door shut.
THIRTEEN
MS. Tough Guy, Lily jeered at herself silently as she pulled the seat belt in place. She’d overreacted . . . but it had sure been satisfying to see the look on his face.
That satisfaction flickered and went out all too quickly. Beneath it she was shaky, like the time when, still a rookie, she’d been first on scene for a five-vehicle pileup. There’d been some reason, then, for her insides to squeeze and quiver and morph into jittery Jell-O. Now . . .
She’d dumped him on the ground because she’d been scared. Not because she didn’t want his kiss, but because she did. Badly.
Lily inhaled slowly. She felt like an engine revving and revving but stuck in park. As if she were hitting some dangerous pitch and had to find a way to either shut off the engine or throw herself into drive.
The driver’s door opened. He got in.
She stared straight ahead. “I hope you don’t expect an apology.”
“Not at all.” He started the car and put it through a quick three-point turn. “I’m amazed, not angry. It’s been a long time since I was taken so completely by surprise. On the other hand, I’m not planning to offer you an apology, either. Not for the kiss I didn’t get. I do regret making you wait.”
Lily thought of the kiss he had taken and shifted slightly. “If you’re going to tell me there’s some kind of weird lupus rule—”
“Not in the way you mean. But you’ll consider my reason weird. And unwelcome.” His words came out clipped, as if he were pushing them out through a tightening channel.
Never had she felt so hot just sitting next to a man. Or so u
nsettled. Automatically she switched mental channels, pushing the button sure to get her back on track. “Never mind that right now. Do you know a woman named Therese Martin?”
“You’re avoiding the subject.”
“I don’t recall giving you permission to choose the subject.”
He made a small sound, somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “All right. I don’t remember her. She’s the one who was killed?”
She gave him a hard look. “Why do you think that?”
“Benedict heard both sides of the call you took.”
“That’s . . .” She wanted to say impossible. “Can you do that, too?”
“My hearing isn’t as good as his.”
“Which doesn’t answer my question.”
“Vanity insists I retain some mystery.” His voice turned grim. “If a lupus killed her—”
“If?”
“We don’t harm women. I’m not saying it’s impossible, but a lupus who would kill a woman . . . we’d call him insane.”
She frowned, trying to remember the lupus kills she’d read about. Surely some of the victims had been female?
“I’ve been assuming Fuentes was killed as part of a larger scheme against Nokolai,” Rule said. “My father spoke to you about that.”
“Some. I have questions.”
“Why does that not surprise me? But this newest killing—it doesn’t fit. I wasn’t involved with Therese Martin. I didn’t even know her.”
He’d spoken to her at some point, though, and been “real respectful.” “She was a working girl. Had a corner on Proctor.” And about a hundred dolls, all with yellow hair. Did she have a mother or sister who’d want those dolls now? “She was almost certainly the last party to see Carlos Fuentes alive, other than the killer. Her testimony narrowed the time of death enough to get you off the hook.”
“Shit.”
“Pretty much so, yeah.” O’Brien was handling the scene, and Mech was there. She knew they’d do a good job, but she needed to be there. She needed to see the place, get a sense of what had happened. She needed to touch things, while they still held the buzz of magic.