Dire Wolf Wanted

by Carol Van Natta

  Nothing dissuaded her inner wolf’s insistence that the man, timber wolf, and mysterious hidden third animal soul all belonged to her, or dented her wolf’s conviction that Díaz and his co-spirits felt equally possessive about her. Dire wolves might mostly live in the moment, but they could be both patient and stubborn when they wanted something. Or someone.

  Rayne had heard many tales of mate bonds, but she had to admit she’d never imagined it for herself. Her dire wolf scared most shifters and made some fighting mad. Kind of took the fun and romance out of dating.

  A point very much in Díaz’s favor was that he found her and her inner dire wolf sexy. She’d scented his arousal and noticed the telltale bulge. And damned right she looked, too, because his firm, muscled body deserved appreciation. In her daydreams, she helped him out of those constricting pants and chest-hugging undershirt, but in real life, she drew the line at seducing a man who’d rather be a wolf.

  She missed her sister. Skyla might not know what it was like to be an agent, or have experience with a potential true mate, but she was as smart about people as she was about magic. She’d ask the right questions that would help Rayne figure out what to do.

  The cabin’s front door opened and Díaz stepped inside. She realized she’d been worried that he wouldn’t come back, or that he’d choose to sleep in the heated kennel as a wolf.

  She hid her exasperation at her angsty internal drama as she stood and tilted her chin toward the laptop screen. “The uplink works fine for now. You were right. Mother Nature is in a capricious mood. She’s probably mad about the whole climate-change thing.”

  “The cabin’s protections should redirect snow drifts, but I brought out the shovels just in case.” He’d lost most of the Spanish accent he’d used in the auction house. His natural accent seemed an international hodge-podge that went along with his occasionally poetic phrasing. He pulled off his coat and hung it.

  “Sounds good.” Watching him made her realize she still wore her own coat. “Are we staying here tonight?”

  On his way toward the ladder, he turned. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped and frowned. “Yes, if the call with Brooker doesn’t force a change of plan.”

  His expression smoothed to neutral and he said no more. Apparently wanting to talk and actually doing it were two different things. Maybe his third animal spirit really was a gargoyle.

  “Good to know.” She put her cell phone in her pocket, then used the pencil and pad on the kitchen counter to write. “This is my number, but I won’t hear it while I’m running. I’m going out while it’s still light.”

  She gave him a sunny smile instead of shifting to her wolf right then and there and biting him. “When I get back, I’ll throw something down the hill so you can guide me past the illusion perimeter.”

  She didn’t think he’d leave her out in the cold, but a dire wolf could find a den for the night if she had to.

  The backpack mostly had survival food—water, protein, chocolate—and his stuff, so she left it for him and strode to the door. A torn black glove lay on the mat, under his coat. She scooped it up and tossed it to him. “Good thing you didn’t touch the Alfar metal in the trap.”

  She opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. After a bracing breath of crisp mountain air, she pulled the door shut, then shifted. Giving in to instinct, she shook all over because it felt good, then took off in a fast trot, enjoying everything about being a bad-ass dire wolf.

  It had been a snarky way to tell Díaz she’d seen through one of his many misdirections, but he deserved it. Maybe she was lucky he’d been so uncommunicative, so she didn’t have to catalog even more lies.

  Shaking off the doubts and worries, she gave herself over to her dire wolf to follow her nose to the interesting sounds and smells that caught her fancy. No underground cages, no beat-downs, no disorienting time-zone hopping, no small-town jerks, just the rugged terrain and the whirling wind to rustle through the trees and tickle her fur.

  Three hours later, she started down the same slope where Díaz had first shown her the cabin. The setting sun made taller peaks visible even through the storm haze.

  Díaz’s rocks-and-debris illusion was still damned impressive. Even her discovery magic would have missed it if she hadn’t already known it was there.

  She shifted to human, keeping the same winter hiking clothes she’d gone out with. She crouched to pick up a small rock and pulled up the hood to keep the steady falling snow from melting down her neck.

  When she stood up, the cluttered debris had become a cozy cabin with its back to the mountain. Díaz stepped onto the porch.

  Either he’d been watching for her, or his magic defenses alerted him. Her inner wolf insisted he could feel her, the same way she knew where he was. It felt like a natural shifter version of the elven tracker spell her family had used until her father disappeared and she’d broken the connection with her sister.

  She let the rock go and started down the slope.

  During a pell-mell run through an unexpected U-shaped valley, she’d decided she might not be any better at communication than Díaz. Smiles and teasing banter covered fear, uncertainty, and confusion, none of which agents were supposed to feel, or at least admit to.

  Being the best agent she could be had gotten her onto Brooker’s team, but more importantly, it had gained her father’s approval. That is, once he’d gotten over the shock that she’d applied and accepted the job with the Tribunal without asking for his blessing.

  Then he’d vanished, and she’d begun to doubt the integrity of the Shifter Tribunal.

  She paused on the porch to brush the snow off herself. Small strips of lights lit the porch and steps, which was plenty for animal eyes to see by.

  Díaz followed her in and shut the door. She stifled the impulse to simply turn and wrap herself around him and soak in the feel of his embrace. They owed each other real words first, before they drowned themselves in sensation and need.

  The cabin felt noticeably warmer. “The stew smells heavenly.” She took off her coat and hung it next to his. “Were you ever a cook?”

  His shoulder tension eased. “Occasionally, out of self-preservation. Some people shouldn’t be allowed near a cookfire.”

  She laughed. “Oh, yeah. I knew a woman who could ruin instant ramen.”

  His sock-covered feet made her realize she was tired of wearing boots, so she sat on the bench to remove them. She lined them up next to his on the mat.

  She stood and took a deep breath. “Sorry I was an ass before. I’ve been in denial about a few things, and you’re making me…” She searched for the best way to explain it. “Re-examine my assumptions and priorities.”

  He blinked, then gave her the first genuine smile she’d seen from him in days. “I had a long apology speech planned, but your version is better.”

  “Do you want to talk now, or after we eat?” She glanced toward the counter. “Do we still have satellite?”

  “Yes to the satellite, and yes to eating first.” He waved toward the table, set with plates and glasses. “If we aren’t hungry as wolves, we’ll be less likely to bite Brooker’s head off.”

  She laughed. “Or each other’s.”

  “That, too.”

  By tacit agreement they ate quickly and efficiently, without dawdling for conversation. He’d added fresh ingredients and spices to canned stew, and it filled her empty stomach. The yeasty flavor of the fresh rolls made everything taste better.

  With thirty minutes to kill while they waited for the appointed time, she helped him clear the table, then visited the bathroom. Her buffalo-plaid flannel shirt, many-pocket vest, and hiking pants were clean enough. She washed her face and ran damp hands over her hair to smooth it back.

  After her stint in prison, her hair needed a solid day of pampering. Either the roots needed relaxing, or the relaxed ends trimmed, so she could go natural for a while. Except, thanks to her melting-pot genetic heritage, it tended toward ringlets. She suffer
ed from a near-overwhelming inclination to punch anyone who called her cute.

  Díaz was engrossed in his laptop. Rather than stare appreciatively at the muscles of his shoulders and back, visible under his tightly stretched black T-shirt, she took a tour of the cabin’s decor. Each artifact contributed to the overall ocean theme, from shaped coral to beautiful, detailed illustrations of colorful fish, to decorated driftwood. The centerpiece was a highly stylized, carved-wood animal in black, red, and white that dominated the back wall. She decided not to tell him it looked like a salmon with legs.

  When she passed by the big picture window, she glanced out, then stopped and did a double take.

  “Uhm, Díaz? Does your concealment illusion work on natural animals?”

  He looked up from his computer. “Arvik.”

  “What?” She turned to look at him.

  “My true name is Arvik Inuktan.” He stood, watching her.

  She blinked, then smiled. Her inner wolf whined in excitement. True names, true hearts, true mates, as the old saying went.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Arvik. My true name is Rayne Chekal, but I’m fifty-four, so I’ll probably be creating a new public identity one of these days.” Maybe he’d tell her later where his name came from. Considering his age and his light brown skin, it was too short and pronounceable to be his original name. “So, your illusion and animals?”

  “It should work on anything with eyes and a rudimentary brain. Why?”

  She pointed out the window. “Little Brother’s back, and he brought all his buddies for a sleepover.”

  He crossed to stand next to her and look out.

  Clearly visible on the dimly lit porch were seven wolf-shaped lumps. Two sat, and five sprawled contentedly on the wood surface, with one half in and half out of the kennel. Snow fell steadily beyond the covered porch.

  “That shouldn’t…” He shook his head. “I think Lerro must have cast a confluence magic spell on us. Impossible things keep happening.”

  Like thinking the moon goddess hates you because your true mate is an enemy wizard? Like instinctively trusting him more than people she’d worked with for years? Like suspecting he’s a three-souled mythic shifter? That kind of impossible?

  “My guess is, your singing magic hasn’t worn off.” She pointed to Little Brother sitting in the sentinel position near the steps. “The illusion didn’t work on him because he ignored his lying eyes and ears and followed his heart. Maybe he influenced the rest of them.”

  “I don’t know what to do.” He sounded bewildered and frustrated.

  She knew those feelings all too well, especially lately. The impulse to pat his shoulder reassuringly came just ahead of her dire wolf’s demand to find Lerro so she could bite him, as a gift to their mate.

  She shrugged. “I vote we let them stay until the storm clears. You’re the magnet, not your cabin. Once you leave, they’ll probably go away, too.” She glanced out the window. “If nothing else works, I’ll shift, and they’ll scatter.”

  The satellite uplink device sounded a five-note descending chime, followed a few seconds later by a similar sequence that went up, which meant they had a signal again.

  Brief magic flared from him, caressing her senses. Her inner wolf sent her a suggestion. No, I’m not going to nip his ear. He’s wearing all those earrings.

  She crossed to the kitchen counter. “It’s early, but let’s try calling Brooker now, while we still have bandwidth for visuals.”

  “I agree.” He headed toward the room’s only upholstered chair. It was wide enough to hold several substantial pillows and a thick wool throw. Maybe he slept there sometimes, to be near the window. “We can use the blanket for a backdrop.”

  She turned on her laptop and used her fingerprint to activate the network charm that made the secure connection to the Shifter Tribunal.

  He draped the blanket across the backs of the chairs, then sat on the floor. She sat next to him, balancing the laptop on her knees.

  She started the software, entered the encryption key, then selected Brooker’s icon. The tinny speaker began playing a doorbell every few seconds.

  The blanket’s tan, white, and azure stripes reminded her of a beach resort in the Indian ocean. “I feel like I’m in a fort with my sister.”

  His head tilted slightly. “She makes you sad.”

  She appreciated his diplomacy. “I’m worried about her.” She suppressed a sigh, as it was unbecoming of an agent. “I treated her very badly. Even if she’s okay when Brooker finds her, she may not want to have anything to do with me.”

  “My sympathies. It’s hard to—”

  The laptop bonged with the bright tune that meant Brooker answered their call.

  Brooker’s nose took up most of the window until he sat back. “You’re early.” He thumped something out of camera range. The camera jiggled. “I can’t see you.” He happily embraced technology, but his first instinct was to beat it into submission.

  She lifted the piece of tape blocking her camera. “How’s that?” She scooted closer to Arvik and angled the laptop so the reference window showed them both in the frame.

  Brooker nodded. “Good. Where are you?”

  “Under the sea,” she sang, a line from the famous musical about mermaids. “How’s the auction going?”

  Brooker made an equivocal motion with his hand. “Partial success. It’s lured in more of the shifter purity crowd. We think they’re an investment consortium. Díaz’s Imperium contact says they’ve got some good leads on their end, but none look like owners. Here, I’ll show you.”

  A spreadsheet with names and bids replaced his face.

  None of the names meant anything to her, but the bids were higher than she’d imagined.

  Arvik shook his head. “I don’t recognize the screen names.”

  The display switched to Brooker’s face again. “We’re making coordinated arrests tonight during the final countdown. By the way, my office got an untraceable transmission of recent auction-house sales records. You two wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  “When?” asked Rayne.

  “While we were at the hotel. We used some of the files as a ‘sample’ of the goods.” Brooker frowned. “We’re keeping the West Coast travel ban in force until we find and help the escaped shifters. If the records are accurate, we’ve got a lot more missing shifters to track down than we thought.”

  “And buyers,” she said pointedly.

  His eyes darkened and became dangerously predatory. “Oh, yes.”

  And that was why she liked her boss so much.

  “Any news about Skyla?” She worked to keep her tone even and professional.

  Out of sight of the camera, Arvik’s hand brushed her knee. She was comforted by the touch, even if he hadn’t meant it that way.

  “No, but that’s because we’ve had to back off on the search. Someone on the same marketplace site we’re using posted a bounty for a live dire-wolf shifter.”

  Arvik stirred beside her. “I believe the Imperium team thought Ice Age shifters were a myth until they saw Rayne shift into her true form.” His jaw tightened.

  “What happened to your maned-wolf illusion?” asked Brooker.

  “Short-circuited by hellfrog blood before I spit it out.” She narrowed her eyes to warn him about giving her shit about being more careful. She was as timid as a field mouse compared to some agents she could mention. Like, for instance, the legendary Florinel Brooker.

  “Hmph.” His mouth twitched. “Anyway, the price is high enough to attract good hunters, so we didn’t want to lead them to Skyla with our efforts. Anyway, our oracles are swamped.”

  “Damn.” She blew out a noisy breath. “But thanks.”

  “In related news, the wizards who attacked Fort LeBlanc all swear their information came from Magister Balton. He swears the orders came from Aldenrud. The involuntarily conscripted shifters we questioned agree.”

  Arvik nodded. “Aldenrud was embezzling
, maybe as his retirement. The earthquake jeopardized his plans. He might have seized on the sanctuary town raid as a distraction to cover his final escape. Your ‘board of directors’ trick probably scared the life out of him.”

  “A plausible scenario,” said Brooker. “When we find him, we’ll ask him how he found out. Fort LeBlanc had only been back two days when he told Balton to pull most of the guards for the raid.”

  “Hmm.” Arvik’s expression looked thoughtful. “Aldenrud will be hard to catch. He’s a long-range planner. He’s flush with cash and has friends everywhere, including fairies with their own pocket demesnes.” Arvik’s gaze unfocused for a moment. “Maybe check the sales records to see if any repeat customers consistently got bargain deals. The auctioneer would have gone along with it as long as Aldenrud paid her a bonus to make up for her lower commission. She likes thrills and money.”

  “Good idea.” Brooker pulled the pen from behind his ear and looked down a moment. When he looked up, he looked puzzled. “Are you staying with your friends in Ecuador?”

  She refused to dignify that with an answer, because he didn’t need to know where they were. The question did explain why Arvik had taken them there. She’d bet his burst of magic aimed at the sky was designed to spoof the satellite, and a high-elevation spot might be easier to do it from.

  “Never mind. Díaz, do you trust your Imperium contact to help us track down the source of the dire-wolf proffer?”

  “I trust my contact, but she’s got the same problem you do. Some of her colleagues have hidden agendas. Finding the source might end the immediate problem, but not the long-term threat.”

  Rayne cleared her throat and glared at the camera. “I hope you’re not thinking of sidelining me for my safety. Or because I’m a dire wolf.”

  Brooker shook his head. “No. You’re too valuable.” He cocked his head. “But you need to lie low for a few weeks, and nowhere near the West Coast. You’re blown as far as the Imperium assault team. I think they used the same marketplace to make sure Díaz sees the offer.”