by Zoe Chant
“I’m not…royalty,” she said.
“You are,” he said. “Every clan has a head, either an alpha or a queen. And when Oliver died, it passed to you.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Why not Frieda?”
“It doesn’t go by first born or anything like that,” he said. “It might have been her, if she’d been the only child. But there were three of you, so it could have been any of you.”
“If we were boys, one of us would be an alpha?”
“Yeah,” he said. That sounded logical even if you weren’t a werewolf, right? It was hard to tell when you’d grown up in a clan. His wolf told him it mad perfect sense, but that was no help.
“And I’m a queen, not an alpha.”
“Not a queen. The Queen. The top of the clan.”
“So it’s not…it’s not a merit system.”
He laughed. “The power finds the right person. It probably sounds kind of bullshit, but hey, we’re werewolves. You can’t think logically about werewolves.”
“How can I be the right person? I don’t even know anything about all this.”
“It’s not about that. It’s about power, and guidance. You have to lead the clan.”
“What if I say no?”
It took him a second to even understand what she was saying. It was…. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I don’t know if it’s ever happened.”
“What about Frieda?”
“What about Frieda?” he asked.
“Is it…it’s not because she’s gay, is it?”
He shook his head. “No,” he said. “But she doesn’t seem like the kind of person who’s comfortable in a crowd. You’ve taught. You’re good with people. That’s the biggest thing.”
“It doesn’t make any sense to me,” she said. “What do you do, as the head of the clan? Just…order people around?”
“It usually doesn’t come to that,” he said. “Mostly it’s guidance. Keeping the wolves out of the public eye, making sure everyone behaves.”
“I don’t know about that.” She put down her pencil. “I mean, don’t I do enough of that already? I have to do it in my free time, now?”
“Usually for us, the clan comes first. Our jobs are what we do in our free time.”
“Us?”
“I’m an alpha,” he said. “Since my father died. The lineage isn’t always that direct, but it was for me.”
“But you think it’s just…it’s just this thing. Tribute. Like taxes. Only in dead animals.”
“Sort of?” He wasn’t sure how much detail he should get into.
She was still thinking over everything he’d said. “I love my job,” she said. “I don’t…I don’t want to be a Queen first and a teacher second.”
He wasn’t sure what to say to that. He’d always been a werewolf first. She hadn’t even known. He didn’t know how he could help her. He reached out a hand and touched her wrist.
That was a mistake.
The pain seared across his palm. Silver. He let go, but it wasn’t quick enough; the metal had left a mark, and it throbbed.
“Oh my God,” she said. “I’m so sorry—are you all right?”
“Silver,” he said. “Didn’t…didn’t notice you were wearing it.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said, pulling the bracelet off and slamming it on the table. “Can I—would aloe or something work? Burn cream? I—I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said. Mostly all he could think about was the pain. “Um. Maybe if you have some burn cream?” Was it blistering? He stared at it, hoping he could figure it out.
“Shit,” she said. “Does that—do werewolves heal fast? Tell me you heal fast?”
“Normally,” he said. “Not silver. Hurts.”
She disappeared and reappeared with a tube of something…oh yeah. Burn cream. She took his hand. “Okay,” she said. “Hold still.”
“Hands are soft,” he said.
“You maybe ought to lie down,” she said.
“I’ll be okay,” he said. “I will.”
“Why don’t you lie down anyway?” Her hand was really warm. Really soft. It helped him think about something other than his hand. Her bedroom smelled nice. Like her. Like home.
“Wanna take off my shoes….”
“I’ll get your shoes,” she said, and it was so nice of her, she did, untying them, slipping them off—
He closed his eyes and tried to block out the pain.
When he woke, he was in…Lucy’s room. Lucy’s bedroom. Lucy’s bed. Oh, shit.
His hand still felt raw. He hadn’t had that bad a reaction to silver in a long time. Maybe it was because it was wielded by a Queen. Maybe he was just overtired. He’d run all night doing security with Ian and he was still dealing with jet lag.
He sat up.
Lucy was sitting on her couch reading. “Hey,” he said. “Thanks.”
She looked up at him, her face full of concern. “How are you feeling?”
“All right,” he said. “Hit me pretty hard. Gonna blame it on jet lag.”
“Does silver always—”
“It’s like an allergy,” he said. “Usually…usually it’s not that bad.” He felt tired, still, and achy, but not that bad. “Like I said, it was probably the jet lag.”
“Why can I wear it?”
He shrugged. “Because you can’t transform. You have to wield power somehow. So you can use silver, wolfsbane. The things we can’t.”
“Wolfsbane? That actually exists?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Monkshood, people usually call it. Might even be some around here, I think it grows this far north. It’s kind of pretty. I can touch it—it’s not like silver—but you feed it to a werewolf, they’re gonna have problems.”
“Oh, Ian called. You better tell him you’re okay. I…I told him you had a headache, because I wasn’t sure—”
“It’s cool,” he said, and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Thank you.”
“So what did you find at the house?” she said, as he sent his text to Ian. “When you were ‘Remus’?”
“A bunch of muddled smells,” he said. “Basically it was to get a baseline. Something happens, we’ll know where it’s coming from, where it’s going.”
“This is a lot to take in,” she said.
“I know.” He reached out to take her hand. “Most of the time, things just get passed down through families. So everyone grows up knowing. Your uncle said that when your mom died, he couldn’t figure out what your dad knew, and he just…put it off, for too long. He was hoping the two of us could find the best way to tell you, but then he….”
“He had a heart attack,” she said. “That’s…normal. Like, a human thing. I thought werewolves were super healthy and strong and all that.”
“We are,” he said. “But we’re not immortal. He was eighty-seven, that’s not too unusual for a werewolf. Cancer, heart disease—we don’t have every disease, but we can get sick like anyone. I can stay here as long as you want me to, answer any question I can.”
“We have to drive out to my uncle’s house this afternoon,” she said. “We’re meeting with the lawyer at four.”
“Well,” he said. “Maybe I should come with you. I can say I’m looking for anyone who might be looking out for your uncle’s money. It might give me a better idea of if there was any trouble in the pack about the clans.”
“Yeah,” she said, though she wasn’t wholly on board.
“I could take you to lunch,” he said. “We can talk. And then we’ll drive up together, Ian can keep an eye on the house.”
“I don’t—I don’t need a babysitter,” she said. “None of us do.” She grabbed the bracelet with her free hand. “I can do a little research.”
“That’s just mean,” he said.
She looked at the silver. “Yeah,” she said. “I guess you’re right. How do you hide it? Don’t people notice when you…cry out in pain or whatever?”
“People don’t
wear that much silver,” he said. “When they do it’s usually a necklace or earrings. Easy to miss. And….” He might as well say it. “I’m usually more careful with people I’ve just met.”
“You’re…you’re coming on pretty strong.”
“I can’t believe you’re not feeling what I’m feeling,” he said.
She didn’t answer him. Did that mean she wasn’t? Or was she just not ready to admit it? He had to be patient. This was a lot to take in all at once. The money, the animals, and now the whole werewolf thing. Only an asshole would want to push her, and he wasn’t an asshole.
“Let me take you to lunch,” he said. “We can just talk. We don’t have to talk about the werewolf thing, or anything you’re worried about. We can just be two people out at lunch. Maybe two friends?” He squeezed her hand a little. “And then if you don’t want me to come, I don’t have to.”
She looked at him for a long time. “Okay,” she said. “Lunch. Between friends.”
It was just lunch, but it felt like a triumph.
***
Richard St. Clare, Uncle Oliver’s lawyer, was a tall, thin white man, with skin so pale he looked unhealthy. He’d always reminded Lucy of Ichabod Crane. Now she wondered if he was a vampire. Why hadn’t she asked Jason if vampires existed? She could ask him later.
Right now he was looking up the stairs. Sniffing? She couldn’t tell.
“I’m glad you got him to come along,” Ophelia whispered in her ear. “He’s so fine…you think I can ride up front with him on the way back? I’m hoping—”
“O,” Frieda said. “Come here, I want to see what you think about this.” She grabbed Ophelia by the arm—none too gently—and steered her toward the back of the house.
Uncle Oliver’s house was really more like a mansion. It was a big white two-story farmhouse, with exposed beams inside. The furniture was old and expensive, and there were big Oriental rugs on the hardwood floors. Every room had a different color scheme.
Lucy wondered what Frieda was telling Ophelia.
“There were a few small considerations,” Richard said, “but the bulk of the property is split evenly between the three sisters. Now, none of you are planning on keeping the house?”
“I don’t know,” Dad said. “They haven’t made that decision. Whoever did would have to buy the other two out, right?”
“Legally, yes,” Richard said. “But of course, the terms would be entirely up to them—Sir?”
“Yeah?” Jason was halfway up the stairs. His arms were on the railing, and Lucy could see his muscles.
Lunch had been really nice. They hadn’t talked about werewolves, or money, or alphas and queens. They’d just talked, like two normal people with normal jobs and normal lives. Jason had told her some stories from the bodyguarding work he did, and she’d told him about her students, about what it was like to help guide these kids—especially the more stressed and directionless kids—to find their own voice and express something. He really did seem to care about her, about what she cared about. And…well, honestly, she was kind of curious now to see if Richard was a werewolf. How many werewolves did she know? Were they everywhere?
“Sir, you’ll need permission from the family to go up there. And you’ll need to be careful. Nothing can be broken or removed until after the probate process is finished.”
“Oh,” he said, and Lucy couldn’t smell anything like a werewolf could, but she knew tension when she saw it. “Is it all right with you guys?”
“Sure,” Lucy said.
“Of course,” Ophelia said, walking back from where Frieda had dragged her.
“Don’t break anything, that’s all,” Frieda said, with a little wave.
“Got it,” he said, and disappeared.
“At any rate,” Richard said. “There’s quite a bit to go through, including some personal effects he specifically asked be returned to you ladies. Nothing of monetary value, so I asked the court to go ahead and release them. And you’re welcome to look around and see if there are any items—furniture, mementos—that you might want. Mr. Rome asked to have the entire estate auctioned and divided. But we can certainly take care of some items. There’s an appraiser coming on Tuesday, if any of you wish to be present.”
“I’ll come,” Lucy volunteered. She always found appraisal interesting, and she wanted to know more about some of the older furniture. It looked like it had history, and the appraiser would know at least some of what that history was.
She could hear James upstairs, moving around. What was he doing? A little part of her wanted to sneak upstairs. Just to talk.
Who was she kidding? She didn’t want to talk. She wanted to test out that big four-poster bed she’d seen in the pictures Richard had sent. They could start at that little settee at the foot of the bed and work their way around the room.
She wondered how much work those tight jeans would take to get off.
“Are you all right?” Richard asked.
“Oh,” she said, pulling her attention back to the paperwork. “I’m fine.”
“I’ll send you the time,” Richard said. “If there’s anything you’re particularly interested in, do let me know, I’ll let the appraiser know.”
“Thank you,” she said, but her mind was running in loops now, stripping Jason naked in every room of the house, feeling Jason’s big, strong hands on her body. Would he want her kneeling in the kitchen? Bent over the table?
What was he doing? Did he change when he smelled things out? Was there an in-between state between man and wolf? If Richard was a werewolf, would he notice?
Frieda tapped the back of her hand. “Come back,” she said. “Man just asked you a question.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just—”
“Your friend,” Richard said, without much patience. “Upstairs. Why exactly is he here, again?”
Good question, Lucy thought. “He’s our bodyguard,” she said. “Kind of silly, but dad hired him.”
Richard looked alarmed. “Have you had any threats? You should—”
“Nah,” Ophelia said. “Probably just an animal. Dad’s being paranoid.”
Lucy felt relieved she hadn’t had a chance to tell her sisters about the animals on her own porch. The whole ‘werewolf’ thing had been too much to cover in a car trip, even a long one. And she definitely couldn’t ask Jason to change into a big dog while they were on the 290.
“I’ll go check on him,” she said, getting up. “I’m sure he’s done with…whatever he was checking. Probably just wants to stay out of our way.”
She climbed up the stairs, the rich wood of the railing smooth under her hand. Someone had done a lot of work on this house. Had put a lot of love into it. Jason had said that werewolves didn’t live lives any longer than humans, so it must have been done by the previous owners. Richard said that the house had been in the family for a long time. Had they been werewolves too? Was this the house that was inherited by the alpha or queen? Was it hers?
It would explain why she felt so at home every time she came back.
Werewolves had good hearing, right? She probably shouldn’t ask, just in case Richard really was one.
She wasn’t even sure why she was going upstairs. She was thinking of the bed in the master bedroom, the thick purple drapes around the 4-poster frame, the ridiculous gold-edged settee. It was so ridiculous, but it was also warm and rich-looking. She felt like she could feel her uncle’s presence there, just a little, because the room had so much personality.
She walked down the long hallway. There was a library up here, two guest bedrooms. A beautiful master bath with a clawfoot tub and Italian tile. The master bedroom was at the end of the hall, looking out over the backyard and the vegetable garden.
Jason was standing at the window. “It’s beautiful out here,” he said. “Though I’m not sure I could live with all this purple, if it was my house.” The sunlight was coming through the window, highlighting his hair, making his skin glow.
�
�He must’ve liked purple a lot,” Lucy agreed.
“A whole lot,” he said, and stepped aside a little, reaching his arm out toward her. It felt so natural. She stepped into his curved arm, and it was…right. He turned so his face was in her hair. Her breath picked up. “It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she said, and put her arms around his waist. She should stop. She should say no. But she didn’t want to at all.
He kissed her, gently at first, and then with the passion she felt in her own heart. For a little while, she forgot her sisters, the inheritance, Richard, who might or might not be a werewolf himself—
It was just his strong arms around her, his lips on hers, her heart pounding in her chest. He slipped a hand into the waistband of her jeans, and she wanted them off, wanted him on her, in her. She wanted to know how big he was, how he’d feel, what it would be like to ride him.
Do werewolves do it doggy style?
She started giggling, breaking the kiss. Jason didn’t seem to mind, but he did seem a little confused. “What?” he said. “What?”
“I—I’ll tell you later,” she said, “I’m sorry—”
“It’s okay,” he said, smoothing her hair back with one hand, the other still wrapped around her. “It’s okay.”
“I think you should stay at my place tonight,” she said. “Because of the animals.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Good idea. We can tell your family on the way home.” He kissed her again, just a peck on the lips, but it sent shudders through her.
“There’s a lot we need to tell them,” she said.
“Yeah,” he said. “There is.” He kissed her on the forehead this time. “And some more things I need to tell you.”
“Good things, I hope.”
“All good things.”
He turned so his face was in her hair. Her breath picked up. “It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she said, and put her arms around his waist. She should stop. She should say no. But she didn’t want to at all.
He kissed her, gently at first, and then with the passion she felt in her own heart. For a little while, she forgot her sisters, the inheritance, Richard, who might or might not be a werewolf himself—