Wolf's Lie

by Laura Taylor

  “I am Li -” She stopped, the word caught in her throat as she realised what a colossal mistake she had nearly made. Among the Noturatii, she was only ever addressed as ‘Li Khuli’, The Tiger. It had been her only name since she had passed the first round of combat sessions at the age of ten, the time when trainees either graduated from being ‘les chiens’, the dogs, to the Satva Khuli, the Blood Tigers, or were killed, either in the fights themselves, or afterwards, as punishment for failing. Whenever she had had to go on an infiltration mission, one where she’d had to speak to real people and pass herself off as someone she was not, she’d been provided with a false name, along with cover details about who she was and where she came from. For this mission, since she officially wasn’t supposed to be talking to anyone, such details hadn’t been provided.

  “Lee?”

  “Lee,” she confirmed, mortified at her own mistake. “Just Lee.” Drew seemed a little miffed at that, so she felt compelled to explain. “If I tell you my father’s name, you may recognise it, and there are people who don’t approve of what he does, and then you’ll think badly of me, and we won’t get to talk any longer.” And she wanted to keep talking, Li Khuli realised. Drew was an interesting man, someone she could learn things from, and… and just like the forbidden bed, and the forbidden beer, she found she was enjoying this.

  “Do you approve of what he does?” Drew asked softly. “You don’t sound terribly happy about having been sent on this business trip of his.”

  Li Khuli stared at him, the question shocking her into silence that even her considerable training couldn’t save her from. Did she approve of the orders of the head of the Noturatii? It was a question she had never even considered asking herself. He was her master. She was… his slave, to all intents and purposes. Did she approve? It was like asking why she should kill a target, and a sudden, dark void ripped open beneath her, with questions that should never be asked swirling in her mind.

  A moment later, Drew seemed to realise he’d made a considerable mistake. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that,” he said, picking up his drink and standing up. “He’s your father, and that probably means you hold a certain loyalty towards him, and I have no right to be questioning that. I’m sorry for disturbing you.”

  “No, wait!” Li Khuli stood up quickly – no, it was just ‘Lee’ now, just for a little while – but she accidentally spilled some of her beer as she did so. An unexpected shaft of disappointment hit her as she saw it sloshing over the table. It had seemed like such a battle to get that glass and to taste it for the first time, and now here she was, wasting it. “You’re not… I don’t… please don’t go,” she said finally. “My father is complicated, and my job is complicated, and… how about this?” she said earnestly, latching onto the first idea that just might let her continue talking to this intriguing young man. “We won’t talk about business. Or family. But you can tell me about England? You live nearby, don’t you? And about your job. Or not, if you prefer,” she added hastily. “I’m only here for…” She did a rapid calculation in her head. How long was it going to take to kill the shifters? “…a week or two. And I’d like to learn something about England while I’m here.”

  Drew hesitated, then glanced over to another table a short distance away, where a group of rowdy-looking men were sitting. One of them was laughing loudly, another looking both amused and pissed off, while the third happened to look up and see Drew and Lee watching them. “I’m sorry, I’m keeping you from your friends,” Lee said, trying not to sound disappointed. She sat down again, mopping at the mess with a handful of napkins.

  But as she glanced back at the group of men again, she caught the tail end of a silent exchange between the third man and Drew, the man giving him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. In response, Drew rolled his eyes and shook his head. But he did sit down again.

  “My friends aren’t going to miss me,” he said, helping her clean up the table. “What would you like to know about England?”

  Three hours later, Alistair checked his watch, surprised by how quickly the time had flown. The pub was quieter, though by no means empty, and his journalist buddies had left about half an hour ago, making a point of saying a rowdy goodbye. He’d told Lee they were friends from work, apologising for their boisterousness, and while he knew they were expecting him to spend the night with Lee, he got the clear impression that those weren’t her intentions for the evening.

  After a couple of hours of chatting, she’d gradually become more comfortable with him. At first, she’d been flighty, constantly checking the door, tensing whenever anyone walked too close to their table. Now, though, she’d relaxed, her eyes not straying far from his face, her smile coming more readily. She was a beautiful woman, with long, black hair and slender, graceful hands, though that wasn’t why he’d first sat down with her. But she was also turning out to be far more complex than he’d first imagined. His initial impression of her had been of a shy and inexperienced tourist, out of her depth and floundering in a foreign country. Now, though, he knew that her current diffidence was only a product of the situation. Drop her in the middle of a high-class dinner party in Beijing and she would command the room. She was a baffling, enchanting collection of contradictions, at once shy and confident, bashful and sardonic, innocent and oh, so very seductive. Courtesy of his job and his double life as a shape shifter, Alistair himself was a master of disguise, a changeling capable of presenting himself as one person one minute and an entirely different person a moment later. While he didn’t suppose Lee had turned lying into quite the art form he had, she had some hidden depths that were clearly put to good use, depending on the situation; the hesitant shyness seemed no more or less real than her occasional dry wit.

  “So, which was your favourite place out of all the ones you’ve visited?” Alistair asked, keeping the conversation flowing.

  Lee smiled. “That’s an easy one. Russia. The forests, oh, such forests,” she said, closing her eyes at the memory. “I have never seen trees so big. They go on forever. I could just get lost in those forests and never go home again.”

  Alistair grinned at her enthusiasm. “Just a holiday that time?” Since that awkward moment back at the start, he’d been careful to avoid any mention of either her work or her family. And given that he most definitely was not at liberty to discuss his own family, her suggestion that they avoid the topic had suited him fine.

  Lee shrugged. “Mostly. There’s always a bit of business any time I travel. But I took some time to see the scenery as well.”

  Travel had dominated the conversation, and Alistair had told Lee all about his trips across Europe. Italy was his favourite place, he’d confided in her, with Romania a close second. He’d never been to Asia, but had listened with fascination as Lee described some of the food there and how the local farmers grew it, out in the pockets where people still lived subsistence lives off the land. Then she’d told him about the scenery, the plummeting cliffs of the mountains, the rivers after the rain, and some of the less appealing parts as well; the cities filled with skyscrapers as far as the eye could see and the incredible swell of humanity that filled them. “Like London, I expect,” she said wistfully. “I’ve seen photographs. Some of the architecture looks so beautiful, but there are so many people there.”

  “Not a fan of big cities, huh?” Alistair could understand that. “Neither am I. Hence why I live here. I prefer the open spaces and the forests. But don’t get me wrong, I like people plenty, too. That helps, being a journalist and all.” He’d told her the bare bones of his job, that he was a journalist, worked freelance, and loved the frequent opportunities both to travel and to meet new people.

  Now, though, it was getting late, and as much as he was enjoying Lee’s company, he knew he should be getting home. He had a fairly free rein, given what his work entailed, but if he stayed out too late, Baron inevitably started to worry.

  “I’m sorry to have to end this, but I have to get going,” he said, standing up, and
Lee did likewise, hastily swallowing the last of her drink. The glass of beer had been finished long ago, and when she’d said she hadn’t wanted to drink too much alcohol since she wasn’t used to it, Alistair had suggested she try a lemon, lime and bitters. It was what he often had when he knew he had to drive, and after one sip, she’d declared she simply loved it. “And I think I’ve kept you up late enough,” he added, a little surprised to see no hint of tiredness on her face.

  Lee smiled faintly and shrugged. “I usually go to bed very late,” she told him. “International phone calls and sudden emergencies in the office tend to create that sort of habit.”

  “No doubt they do,” Alistair agreed. He reached out his hand, and she took it, but rather than shaking it, he instead brought it to his lips and kissed the back of it. “It’s been a true pleasure, Lee. I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay in England. Aside from our weather, we have a very beautiful country.” In the last half an hour, the rain had begun drumming on the windows, though hopefully it would only be a short shower.

  “Thank you for a very pleasant evening,” she said, smiling that shy, mysterious smile of hers. “It has been… enlightening.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  It was early in the morning, and the day was still decidedly cool, but inside the Den’s expansive gym, Baron stripped off his t-shirt, feeling sweat dripping down his back as he tossed it to the side of the room to land in a damp heap. Facing him on the mats, already shirtless and sweating, stood Silas, his form lithe and perfectly balanced as he got ready for the next round. Though Baron outranked him, Silas had always been the better fighter, and his smooth grace and light-footed style made Baron feel slow and awkward.

  The exercise of the day was a full-contact sparring match, Andre, Silas and Baron all having decided it was high time they tested out their skills on each other to make sure none of them were getting sloppy with their training. Andre was watching the current round, making a careful study of both fighters’ styles to give pointers later on.

  But it was more than a simple sparring match, as the three of them were also taking the time to discuss the niggling problem of Tank’s departure and the resultant gap it had left in the pack. Currently, Silas was ranked as second in command after Caroline, but he’d made it clear, both in the past and again just yesterday, that he had absolutely no intention of becoming the male alpha if anything happened to Baron.

  The problem was that there was no one else who could, for quite a way down the pecking order. After Silas was Andre, who likewise had said he didn’t want the responsibility, regardless of the fact that the pack would easily fall in behind him, in the event of Baron’s death. He might take on the role temporarily as an emergency fill-in, he’d offered, but long term, they needed to find another option.

  After Andre was John, who was far too unstable for the role, then Alistair, whose job keeping the media off their tails was too important to consider promoting him up the ranks – if he was even interested in it, which Baron strongly suspected he wasn’t. Then there was Simon, who was the same age as Baron and far too introverted to be interested in leading the pack.

  “Miller’s capable of doing the job,” Baron said, as he faced off against Silas, enjoying the physical exertion of their training.

  Silas snorted as he took an experimental swing at Baron’s head. “Forget it. He’s only just joined the pack, and he’s got a long way to go before he gets his head around our culture. And he’d have an uphill battle to get anyone to follow him anyway. Too much resentment.” He ducked as Baron swung at him, dropped to the floor, then kicked Baron’s legs out from under him.

  Baron cursed as he hit the mat. He might be stronger than Silas, but the man had always been able to best him with speed. He got up, ready to go again.

  “The way I hear it,” Andre said, stepping sideways to avoid getting in the way, “Mark used to be a serious contender.”

  Baron shook his head, sending sweat flying from his hair. “The Council banned him from ever holding the rank.”

  Andre made a sound of annoyance – that detail must have slipped his mind for the moment – and sighed. “Well, below Simon, you’ve got Kwan, then Cohen. Aaron’s got completely the wrong temperament, and George is too old. So it’s got to be one of those two.”

  Baron’s attention was suddenly taken up blocking Silas’s rapid-fire blows, and before he knew it, he’d been thrown backwards, landing with a thud on the mat.

  Silas bounced a couple of times on his toes, then shook out his arms. “You want to have a go with the Flash here?” he asked, nodding at Andre, and Baron rolled his eyes, but nodded nonetheless. If he thought Silas was fast, then Andre was like quicksilver. But that wasn’t the only reason Baron needed to play it cool when going up against their resident assassin. Without a shirt on, Andre looked like a Greek demi-god, chiselled muscle on a perfectly proportioned frame, shoulder-length hair and a goatee giving him a rugged look. While Baron had absolutely no designs on him, his natural attraction to the male form was busy reminding him how very solid those muscles would be and how enticing he would smell after a thorough workout. Thankfully, both men seemed oblivious to his internal disquiet, as Silas headed to the side while Andre came forward, and then the conversation picked up again.

  “Kwan is only two years younger than Mark,” Silas pointed out, watching as the bout began. “I tend to think of him as still being a teenager, but he’s grown up a lot since he came here.”

  “I think the difference between his background and Mark’s always made him seem younger,” Baron said, dodging a blow and trying to remember what Andre had taught him the last time they’d done this. “When Kwan and Aaron arrived here, they’d been dealing with their final year at high school and trying to dodge overprotective parents. Mark had spent the better part of a year coming to terms with his own impending death. That kind of shit changes you.”

  “Kwan’s what, twenty-six, twenty-seven now?” Andre asked. “That’s more than old enough to start taking on some serious responsibility. Hell, you were only twenty-seven yourself when you became alpha, weren’t you?”

  Baron snarled and blocked a blow aimed at his throat, the impact jarring his arm from wrist to elbow. “Ignoring the fact that I was thrown headfirst into an enormous shit-storm, my childhood was plenty different from Kwan’s. I’m not convinced he’s got the skill to lead a pack.”

  “He’s got plenty of diplomacy,” Andre disagreed, grabbing Baron’s arm and twisting it behind his back. He held him immobile for a moment, then let him go, ready to begin again. “Everyone in the Den likes him.”

  “And he’s got the dedication to improve his combat skills, start climbing the ranks,” Silas added. “I’m not saying he’s ready to step into Tank’s shoes tomorrow. But I do think it would be relatively easy to train him for it. Two years from now, I could see him earning some serious respect from the rest of the Den.”

  “Stop taking it so bloody easy on me,” Baron complained, suddenly aware that Andre hadn’t thrown him onto the mats, or tripped him, or landed any serious blows aside from that one hold so far. “I’m not here for a damned frolic among the tulips!”

  “Fine.” A split second later, Andre had kicked Baron’s legs out from beneath him, landing him face first on the mat, then spun effortlessly to land on top of him, pulling his arm back and rendering him helpless and immobile. “Feel better now?”

  “Much,” Baron agreed, breathing hard, his face squished into the mat as he waited for Andre to get off him. Andre stood up, then offered Baron his hand.

  “All right, then. Kwan,” Andre said, not making any immediate move to begin the fight again. “I see two serious problems with that. One: Aaron. Those two have been stuck together like glue since they both came here as teenagers. If we drag Kwan up the ladder to become alpha, Aaron’s going to be left behind in more ways than one.”

  “Does anyone know if they’re...” Silas made a vague gesture with his hands, which, given how well Baron knew his De
n, wasn’t hard to interpret.

  “Gay?” he asked bluntly. “I know Kwan’s not. Aaron, I’m not so sure. I think Kwan knows Aaron’s got feelings for him – I’m not entirely sure how deep those feelings go – and so far, he’s avoided finding a girlfriend to spare Aaron. As he gets older... I don’t know. Sooner or later, he’s going to have to make a decision to walk his own path. In a way, we may be doing him a favour by making it about rank, rather than about love.”

  “I think all we can do there is give Kwan the option,” Silas said. “It’s still got to be his choice. And he’s too smart not to see the implications. What’s the second problem?” he asked Andre, and Baron knew from the way Andre suddenly glanced sideways at him what the answer was going to be.

  “John,” Andre said flatly. “If Kwan’s going to become 2IC, he’s going to have to get past John in the pecking order to do it. Now, I’m perfectly willing to give him some combat lessons; I’d be volunteering for that even if John wasn’t an issue. But even with training, Kwan’s not likely to be a match for him.”

  Baron sighed and rubbed his face. Then he paced across the room, throwing a few experimental blows at the punching bag hanging from the ceiling. “You know why he won’t move from his rank?” he asked Andre, and sure enough, Andre proved himself yet again smart enough to have figured things out with minimal additional information.

  “He’s protecting Heron,” Andre said. “He won’t challenge her to a fight, and he’s strong enough that no one who ranks below him will ever get past him to challenge her. Unless he lets them.”

  Baron nodded, wondering if he should be feeling guilty for having allowed the situation to go on for as long as it had. “In John’s mind, strength equals power. And given where he came from, it’s easy to understand how he reached that conclusion. But in a wolf pack, rank comes with responsibility, the duty to care for those weaker than you. John’s never managed to put the two things together in his head.”