by Laura Taylor
In a spacious conference room in the Noturatii’s main British base, Melissa Hunter sat at the head of the table with a team of a dozen field agents seated before her. Leon, the Head of Security and her attentive bodyguard, sat on her right, and on her left was her personal assistant, Jill, a woman in her mid-fifties who hardly ever spoke, but was nonetheless brilliant at organising just about anything Melissa could throw at her.
“Okay, sightings,” Melissa began the discussion. “Latest results, times, dates, and, of course, which particular shifters you were tracking.”
Steven Chu was the first to answer. “The captive has been spotted three times between Kendal and Lancaster, but no one’s seen him in the last three or four months. Sightings were once in a hardware store in Lancaster, once in a supermarket in Kendal, and one gentleman simply said he’d seen him ‘around somewhere’, but couldn’t remember where.”
“Just about enough to confirm we’re on the right track, but nothing like enough to start creating any patterns. What about Miller?”
Another man spoke up. “Twelve people confirmed they recognised him, but I suspect quite a few of those were from before he left the Noturatii. Here’s a full list,” he added, sliding a sheet of paper over to Melissa. She glanced at it, then passed it over to Leon. “Most of them couldn’t remember exactly where they’d seen him, or for those that could, then it was ‘quite a while ago.’ I can’t definitively confirm that anyone’s seen him since he left us.”
“That’s not really a surprise,” Leon pointed out. “He’d have known we’d be trying to trace him, and from what I hear, he’s smart enough to just keep his head down.” Leon had a habit of being right, which was equal parts reassuring and annoying. He had also assembled this team by hand, and so far, despite the less than glowing results, Melissa had been completely impressed with their dedication, training and efficiency. And the results would come in time, she assured herself. The shifters were definitely out there, after all. They just had to get their strategy right to find them.
“Okay, moving on then. Jill’s been scouring the database, and we’ve got a few more profiles for you. This,” she said, passing around the first of the photographs, “is Caroline Saunders. We had her on file about fifteen years ago, when we suspected the shifters were trying to recruit her. I’m fairly sure I also saw her during the raid on the lab last year. The only photo we had was from her recruitment days, but IT has digitally aged her face, so we have a reasonable approximation of what she’d look like today.”
The men each took a copy of the photograph and studied it carefully, before turning their attention back to Melissa.
“Next we have Mark. He was recruited twelve years ago and is known to still be a member of the Lakes District pack.” Melissa didn’t mention how she knew that. Truth be told, even those with high level security clearance wouldn’t find much more than a photograph of Mark and a few notes on his early life in the file. But what Melissa alone knew was that Mark was her natural brother. Not that she would acknowledge any family claim anymore. Twelve years ago, on the verge of dying from leukaemia, he’d somehow faked his own death and run off to join the shifters. When Melissa had discovered the truth, it had been a betrayal she had never recovered from, and she’d joined the Noturatii not long afterwards, determined to wipe the vermin from the face of the planet.
“Dee Carman we all know about,” she said briefly. “The first, and as yet, the only successful subject to survive the Conversion Project. And, finally, we have this gentleman,” she said, passing out copies of a sketch of a man with long hair and a goatee, drawn by their forensic artist. Both Melissa and Jack Miller had got a good look at the man back in the lab explosion – in the days before Miller had turned traitor and joined their enemies– and the way he’d handled himself during the standoff between them and the shifters in the hallway had been impressive. He was a danger to their cause, that much was certain, and he was also the sort of man who was likely to leave an impression on anyone who saw him, making him a clear choice for their little research expeditions.
“Head back out to your designated locations and get started on the new profiles. Remember to keep notes on anyone you suspect of lying, as well. If there are humans protecting these abominations, I want to know who they are. Get them to give you their name, if possible. Or if not, see if you can get a licence plate from their car, or get a photo of them, if you can be subtle enough about it.”
“Not to burst your bubble,” Leon said rather sharply, “but head office has some fairly strict policies about not harassing civilians. We’ve run into plenty of trouble in the past because of overzealous operatives, and the powers that be are not keen to go down that road again.”
Damn the man. He was gorgeous when he got riled up, the way he stared her in the eyes, the way the muscles on his arms stood out when he was making a point. Melissa liked strong men, and the fact that he was so willing to stand up to her was both tantalising and infuriating. “I’m not talking about stalking them all the way back to their house,” she said, managing to sound impatient, but not condescending. Leon could always tell when she was humouring him. “A simple picture is all, then we can run it through facial recognition and see if we can come up with a name, a place of work, a home address. There need be no further contact with the person at all. But if we’re going to work out exactly where the shifters are living, we need to start building patterns, and with more information than that someone saw them ‘around somewhere’.”
“I’m just saying we need to be cautious,” Leon reiterated, a touch calmer this time. He turned to the field team. “Keep that in mind. Civilians have complained about our activities in the past, and on the whole, they’re not supposed to know we even exist. So, by all means, do a little snooping, but be delicate about it.” The team made various noises of agreement, and Leon seemed satisfied that his point had been made.
“Moving on then,” Melissa said, “I’ve spoken to HQ, and they’re willing to lend us the use of their satellite for a short while. Jill, speak to Technology. I want to know what we can get in terms of aerial images of the area. Imaging resolution is getting better all the time, and we should be able to get some decent information about where these animals might be hiding.” Jill nodded, scribbling frantic notes in her diary. “The rest of you, we’ll be in touch with results, so be prepared to be reassigned depending on what comes up.” More nodding and murmuring from the field team.
“Now, finally, I’d like to spend a little more time focusing on Jack Miller. He’s a simpler target than the others, to a certain degree, because up until he cut and ran, we had a detailed knowledge of his movements and his contacts. I believe we can aim to be a little higher-profile with him than with the others. He’s only been gone a couple of months, so he’ll have had significantly less time than the others to build new alliances with people who might be inclined to protect him.”
“Um... with respect, Ma’am,” Chu said anxiously, “is that entirely wise? One of the primary tenets of the Noturatii is that we avoid exposing either ourselves or the shifters to the public. I was of the understanding that our current activities were already pushing the envelope.”
“True enough,” Melissa agreed. She felt both annoyed at being questioned and pleased that Chu was showing a commitment to protecting their organisation. “But so long as we don’t actually reveal to the public that he’s a shifter, we should be in the clear. As far as the general population are concerned, he’s a government agent gone rogue, who is now suspected of having joined a high-level terrorist organisation. That should be more than enough to get a few concerned citizens to call in and tell us what they know.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Dee smiled as a young woman ran over to her and handed her a plate of roast venison and steaming potatoes. She said something in Ukrainian, which Dee assumed meant something to the effect of ‘Enjoy!’, then dashed back over to the roaring fire, where Nikolai was carving the next plateful of meat.
&nb
sp; After meeting the pups and spending an hour working out how best to transport them back to the plane, Nikolai had announced, in his usual straight-forward manner, that it was too dangerous to travel back to the vehicles today, and their visitors would have to stay the night.
Feng had immediately looked uneasy; he had already stated that he wanted to get the pups home as quickly as possible, as every day they waited to convert them was roughly a week they were losing in terms of the human age of the babies. Dee suspected that Nikolai’s ‘warning’ was simply a convenient excuse to extend their visit, but either way, it had quickly become a moot point. In contrast to the rather austere greeting they’d received, the rest of the Den had suddenly and enthusiastically agreed, and half a dozen people had rushed off to start a bonfire. Several weighty legs of venison had appeared from goodness knows where, and everyone seemed to suddenly relax, grins replacing frowns, and people were making an effort to make Mark and Dee feel welcome, despite the language barriers.
Dee was finding the whole issue of language to be rather interesting, actually. Feng was currently discussing something with one of the Ukrainians in Italian, while one of the assassins was having a conversation in Russian. Due to the immense diversity of its members and the need for frequent travel, almost everyone in Il Trosa spoke at least two languages, sometimes three or four. Dee herself was currently learning Spanish, and Mark spoke fluent Greek, though he’d been a little disappointed to learn that no one here spoke the language. But aside from Nikolai, there didn’t seem to be many people here who spoke English, and those who did couldn’t really be called fluent.
As they ate their meal, another woman approached and gave Dee and Mark a glass of beer each – apparently vodka was not the only thing the Ukrainians drank – and then scampered off to attend to some chore elsewhere.
While the meal was going on, the pups were still being kept safely inside the kitchen, with three or four people taking turns to keep them company. Come morning, they would be transporting them back to the plane. Olek had designed a ‘saddle’ of sorts that would fit snugly over a wolf’s body and which contained two generous side pockets where the pups could snuggle in and be carried for the hour-long trek back to the cars.
Dee finished her meal and, feeling thirsty, she got up and went in search of a glass of water. But she’d barely made it past the bonfire when she suddenly felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning around, she saw Iryna and a young man in his early twenties standing there. They both looked somewhat awkward, and Dee’s first thought was that perhaps she was wandering into a part of the village she wasn’t supposed to be in.
But then Iryna held out an object, wrapped in a layer of soft tissue paper, and said something in Ukrainian.
“Iryna be honour if you accept gift,” the man beside her said, his English not perfect, but perfectly understandable.
“Thank you. That's so kind of you,” Dee said, touched by Iryna's thoughtfulness. It couldn’t have been easy to come up with a gift at such short notice, when there were no shops nearby and crafting things by hand could take days, if not weeks of careful preparation.
But aside from that, she was also surprised at the open welcome Iryna had given them. From Nikolai’s comments, she’d been expecting a much harsher woman. Curious, she unwrapped the paper and was surprised and delighted when she found a large leather wrap inside; a baby blanket made out of deer skin. It was soft to the touch, spongy and supple, evidence of the finest leather craftsmanship, with the most wonderful earthy scent, and Dee couldn’t resist the impulse to rub it against her cheek. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” She was a little surprised when Iryna opened her arms, clearly inviting a hug, but she quickly accepted the embrace.
“Iryna very happy pups go good home,” the man translated, when Iryna said something else. “Children is blessing.”
Ridiculously, Dee felt a sudden urge to cry. “Thank you,” she said again, wanting to say so many things, but not wanting to overwhelm the translator, who was clearly struggling despite his best efforts. “I’m very happy to have them. You're right, they are a blessing.”
Iryna smiled as the words were translated, and then there was a moment of awkward silence.
“May I ask a question?” Dee said, curiosity suddenly getting the better of her. “You and Nikolai don’t seem to get along.” Aside from Nikolai’s own reports on the subject, Dee had witnessed two heated arguments between the pair over the course of the afternoon, though she wasn’t aware of any of the details of what had been said. “Is there a problem between you?”
Iryna listened carefully to the slow translation, then nodded sagely. She took some time to think about her answer, seeming more resigned than annoyed about her fellow alpha.
“It is always conflict between generations,” the translator said finally, once Iryna had spoken. “Nikolai alive long time. He believe he knows how to make pack safe. But new… uh…” The man floundered for a moment, him and Iryna exchanging a few words. “New people? Young people, they see new things. Computer, internet, so many information, so fast. Iryna and Nikolai both love pack, want to keep safe, but very different way to do it.”
“I see.” Dee nodded. That made sense. She would have liked to ask for more details, but feared the language barrier was just going to end up frustrating them all. But suddenly from behind Iryna, Olek appeared, a grin on his face.
“Dee!” he said enthusiastically, followed by something in Ukrainian which Dee took to mean he was glad to see her. He hugged her firmly, almost crushing her in the process. Then he stepped back and held her at arm’s length. He looked her up and down and said something else.
“You look healthy,” the translator told her smoothly. “Olek very happy see you again.”
“I’m happy to see you too,” Dee said, then her smile faded. “I’m so sorry about Bohdan.” She wasn’t entirely sure if this was an appropriate time to bring up the loss of one of their pack mates, but she wasn’t likely to get another opportunity. “May he find glory in the House of Sirius.”
Olek needed no translation to get the gist of her words, and he nodded sadly. “Yes, Bohdan.” It was followed by the word ‘Noturatii’ and a word in Ukrainian that was clearly a curse of some sort. Then he sighed and made a gesture that seemed to say, ‘life goes on’.
But then he noticed that Dee’s glass was empty. “Vodka?” he offered hopefully, pointing to it.
“Water,” Dee said deliberately. She still remembered the last time she’d drunk vodka with the Ukrainians and had no desire to repeat the experience at the moment.
“British,” Olek enunciated slowly, when the translator told him what Dee wanted, then gave her a wink. “Water,” he conceded, waving for her to follow him. “Water British Dee.”
Unable to keep the smile off her face, Dee fell into step beside him.
Perched in a tall pine tree on the eastern side of the shifters’ estate, Li Khuli examined the stone wall below her as it sloped gently down the hill. After discovering the property just under a week ago, she’d spent the past few days slowly working her way around the entire estate, examining the wall, locating vantage points where she could get a good view of the manor, the lawn, or strategic parts of the forest, and identifying certain trees that would make good hiding places. Too close to the ground and the wolves might pick up her scent. Too much foliage and her line of sight would be impeded. But then again, if there wasn’t enough leaf cover, she was at risk of being spotted.
This particular tree had become a favourite of hers. Between here and the road, there was a relatively clear path in case she needed to make a hasty getaway. From the higher branches, she could see the lawn and the eastern wing of the manor. And from her current perch, she had an excellent view of a long stretch of the wall.
There were several points along it where she might be able to gain access to the estate without setting off the alarms, but so far, she had merely looked, being forced to admit to herself that whoever had set up the security system had
done an expert job. Motion sensors, trip wires, electric fencing, infrared cameras... the wolves had thought of everything.
And that had piqued her curiosity.
And that, in itself, had surprised her.
The training of the Satva Khuli was brutal, relentless, and all-encompassing. Curiosity was not rewarded amongst the children who were ‘chosen’ – a fancy word for simply rounding up orphans or street kids in poor countries where they were not likely to be missed, or if they were, the authorities were unlikely to spend much time doing anything about it. Rather, the new trainees were rewarded for making fast decisions, for feats of agility and strength, and, of course, for sheer brutality. Only about one out of four or five children who began the training ever lived to see the end of it. The rest ended up killing each other in regularly arranged combat trials, or from disease and infection, as their inevitable wounds were given little to no treatment by those in charge of the groups. Instead, Li Khuli had learned how to treat her own wounds, first simply with water and makeshift bandages made from ripped-up clothes – clothes she had stolen from other children – and later with rubbing alcohol, needle and thread – also stolen – as she’d learned to stitch up her own cuts. She had also practised how to put herself into a Zen-like meditation state so as not to feel the pain as much.
But to allow curiosity would have meant slower reactions in the trainee killers, as irrelevant details were catalogued and analysed. Curiosity meant asking questions, rather than carrying out their master’s orders with blind obedience. The only question Satva Khuli were permitted to ask was how to kill their target, not if, and certainly not why.
So the very realisation that Li Khuli had questions to ask about these wolves was startling, in and of itself.