Undead on Arrival

by L. A. Banks

  “What about his missing mate?” Dugan said, glancing around. “Who’s seen her, what if she’s got the contagion, too?”

  “I don’t think we should jump to conclusions about ’er,” a thick, buxom Gnome said. “She checked out, like regulations require at the B and B—paid ’er bill and left. Go over your records, Dugan. Plus, Ethan’s Margaret said they saw her at Tulane with her humans early this morn. Not like she’s running and hiding in the shadows with him . . . I think he left her, if you ask me.”

  “By right and by honor,” Shogun said, commandeering the group by physically walking through the center of it as he spoke, “the Shadow Clans should quarantine their own man until the full moon two nights from now.” His message was clear in the very term he used, man—Sasha wasn’t part of this wolf hunt. When no one raised an objection, he continued. “Vampires do not sway this vote, since they have allegedly been behind every offense against our kind in the past. Each Wolf Clan reserves the right to martial law within its ranks—this time should be no different. It is the way we’ve functioned as wolves since time immemorial. The moon will bring all things to light. If Max Hunter is infected, he will Turn . . . they will see it, and they will put him to death—his blood will thus be on their hands, just as his escape or release will be, should they choose not to do the right thing. Only then do we act, not before.”

  “It is true; the moon brings things to light,” Lei said in a falsely submissive voice, bowing to her brother. “But let us also not forget that it was the Shadow Wolves’ breach of this tradition to allow us to hunt our own infected members that began the civil war.”

  “Which is why,” Shogun said with a snarl, “we do not want to repeat history. Those who do not know their history and learn from it are destined to repeat it.” He eyed her with an angry glare. “No preemptive strikes.”

  The room had gone dead-still at the tense exchange between siblings. Lei smiled and bowed again, but her eyes burned with mischief. Sauntering over toward the door, she inclined her head and placed a long, graceful finger to her lips for a moment before speaking.

  “You are patient and wise, my dear brother. And the opportunity I spoke of earlier to ensure everlasting harmony has just presented itself.” Lei straightened with a smile and stepped away from the entrance to allow Sasha to come into the room. “Welcome. We were just talking about you.”

  No one moved. No one spoke. All eyes were on her. Sasha surveyed the semi-hostile faces as she entered the room, the hair standing up on the back of her neck. It seemed everyone—except maybe Shogun and, strangely, Lei—had made up their minds already. The auburn bitch who had tried Hunter was standing, her movements a slow stalk.

  Sasha kept her peripheral vision on Dana as she gazed around the room. The questions set deeply in each pair of supernatural irises were the same: Did Hunter do it? Was she involved? Where was he? While she couldn’t blame them, it still killed her that he was being tried in the court of public opinion without evidence . . . she had hard evidence, they didn’t. But it made all the difference in the world that the other wolf Federation leader seemed open.

  “I came here directly, after doing damage control among the human ranks, because I knew you’d have questions.” Sasha let her breath out hard and spoke monotone, military facts. “At approximately oh-seven-hundred, Max Hunter, aka Wolf Shadow, was located and within the hour quarantined by his local Shadow pack. The North American Shadow Clan elder—his grandfather, Silver Hawk, aka Silver Shadow—was informed by pack enforcer Bear Shadow of his capture.”

  She paused, deciding not to tell them that Silver Hawk had informed Doc on his private cell phone, rather than speaking directly to her. To expose their old friendship and her snub as Hunter’s mate was just too raw a scab to pick at right now. Murmurs slowly began to fill in the silence, however, and she knew she had to keep going, press forward with information to quell any brewing dissent for the moment.

  “A full investigation is now under way. He has been silver-caged under heavy guard—and will remain that way to allow the moon to tell the rest of the story. Anyone with valid, pertinent information can let us know. If it’s on the record, your testimony will also be a part of the tribunal proceedings that will convene the second night of the full moon.”

  When no one responded, she sought Shogun with her eyes. Sasha held his gaze, hoping he could see the urgency in her unspoken request. What she had to say didn’t need a public forum—she needed a political favor, his help to be sure this wasn’t another Vampire-inspired ruse. She also needed a deeply personal favor . . . a sample of his blood.

  “As Federation leader for the Werewolf Clans, may I ask you for a moment to discuss this matter in private . . . as co-regent of the Shadow Wolf Federation that has sadly just lost its leader?”

  “Unadvisable. Right now he has deniability, and the Were Clans want to keep it that way,” the auburn female said, rounding the table and bristling. “For Shogun to have a private meeting with you now could compromise his—”

  “I didn’t ask you,” Sasha said between her teeth in a tone that cleared the floor. “The last time I checked, Lei was Shogun’s female enforcer and political adviser.” Sasha turned to Lei, snubbing the troublemaker. Her nerves were way too raw for this. “I am asking for diplomatic courtesy.”

  “Dana, be nice,” Lei said with a sly smile. “Sasha just wants to tell Shogun her side of the story, I’m sure.”

  “And I said no to that bitch,” Dana snarled, staring Sasha down. “I know what she’s trying to do. There’s no amnesty to be had here. When the moon comes up and Hunter flips out, he’s dead. You think you can sashay into Werewolf territory with a contagious Shadow male, hump him then dump him, and then go after an alpha clan leader of ours—telling him lies and sad stories to save your sorry half-human hide?”

  Sasha transformed in a blink, shedding military blues to release her silver wolf majesty. Her paws found the center of Dana’s chest and they both hit the floor in a hard thud. Saliva-slick fangs bore down close to the auburn female’s face in a warning snarl. Then Sasha released several quick angry barks that finally made Dana close her eyes and cringe.

  “Archers, archers!” Dugan cried out, edging his way to the door. “No more bloodshed!”

  A Fae archer smiled. “No, laddie, let her wolf have her run. The transition back into all woman is simply awesome. This is pure she-Shadow. They can transition at will, don’t have to wait for the moon.”

  High-fives rippled through the crowd and a burly Werewolf pounded a fist overhead.

  “Oh, yeah—the way of the wolf,” he said, laughing hard, making his brothers in the room join in a howl.

  The sound broke Sasha’s attack trance. Her nerves were so taut and emotions so keen that she’d flipped. In an instant she was back in her human form, albeit completely nude. A low, resonant whistle of appreciation sounded behind her, making her face burn as she backed off the downed Were-female troublemaker. Sasha swept up her clothes, glad that Shogun hadn’t smiled or leered as he turned his back to her, shielding her from the small gathering.

  “Diplomatic courtesy granted,” he said in a low rumble. “Just tell me where.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Sasha walked in front of Shogun, head held high, jacket on askew, buttoning her shirt. Her underwear was clutched in one fist as she hurriedly jammed her feet into her shoes and swept her hat off the floor as though what had just occurred was the most common thing in the world.

  Mortified did not begin to describe it.

  Yes, she had transitioned in full UCE court at the conference—but so had her entire pack, as did Hunter . . . as did Shogun. That was a unified show of force. That had not been a solo act to leave her naked and flashing too-eager Fae and Werewolf males. This was a travesty, the result of her nerves being wound too tight and losing her cool.

  Sasha cringed as she shoved her unmentionables into her jacket pocket. Jeans and a T-shirt were calling her name. All eyes in the private dining are
a were on her as she marched out of the rear exit of the establishment. This looked so tacky: coming out of the back of a saloon in a dress military uniform, half undressed.

  It was no way to begin a thorough investigation. She needed a change of clothes, a place to literally hang her hat now that she’d checked out of Dugan’s B&B. The only problem was that her clothes, like her weapon, were packed in her luggage, as were Hunter’s personal effects that she’d gathered up, and all of it was in the employee locker Doc had given her to temporarily use back at the lab. That was the last place in the world she wanted to go right now: back to the lab, where her team could see her discombobulation and the wild look in the eye. Maybe she really was too close to this situation, had lost perspective.

  “You never said where you wanted to have this private conversation?”

  Shogun’s voice behind her made her turn quickly to address his question; she’d almost forgotten he was there.

  She didn’t answer for a few seconds, but her bewildered expression was something he’d never expected to see in a woman like Sasha.

  “I understand that it’s hard to know where to go in New Orleans . . . where the walls don’t have ears,” he offered, trying to let her save face. He knew the wolf attack had been spurred by Dana’s bitchiness, and that Sasha’s shape-shift back into her nude human form in front of strangers had humiliated her beyond comprehension.

  When Sasha didn’t immediately respond, he tried again, giving her more physical space as he casually walked off a bit. “There’s a tea salon not far from here. It has private booths where we could discuss your private, diplomatic matter.”

  Sasha nodded, let her breath out hard, and dusted off her hat, still fidgeting with her clothes for a moment before looking up at him. He knew it had cost her dearly to meet his gaze head-on. He wished he could tell her that she’d looked absolutely stunning as she’d stepped through the entrance of The Fair Lady in uniform . . . wished he could tell her how mesmerizing her authority was . . . or could say that her transformation had been majestic, awe-inspiring, her fearlessness legendary, her eyes liquid fire, her nude human form . . . devastating. There was nothing shameful about what had happened. What she’d done before him was living art.

  But he said none of that. When his vocal cords could work again, he rumbled out a change of subject that was no less fluid than her shape-shift.

  “Let’s go to the tea salon, Sasha. It’s a short walk. They have a gift shop on the premises with T-shirts and souvenirs so you can get out of the military duds and not feel stared at. We can sit in a screened booth, or walk in the small, but very beautiful, Japanese gardens.”

  Again, she didn’t speak; just looked at him. He waited, not sure whether she’d changed her mind about wanting to talk to him alone—praying she hadn’t. Then she nodded, allowing him to breathe again. It was a curt, military nod before she released one word.

  “Okay.”

  How did he know? How did he sense it all, even down to her desire to change into civvy gear to better blend in so she didn’t stick out like a sore thumb? He was wearing khakis and a white, collared golf shirt with a pair of casual leather slip-ons; it made her look completely ridiculous and very obvious in her dress blues.

  His innate understanding of her was both endearing and alarming. Their eyes met briefly, and then he slowly turned away and began walking. It was a sensual wolf gesture of follow-the-leader that reminded her of the way they’d met in South Korea.

  She tracked Shogun through a maze of narrow back streets and alleys to a semi-residential district before they finally stopped at what seemed like a large corner property, fenced in with an odd combination of open New Orleans wrought iron and a blind of bamboo saplings. Quiet patience seemed to live here, even down to the carefully laid stone pathway. Cobbled beauty in sandstone and multihued granite led from the concrete street, up a small flight of wide slate steps, to a broad, hardwood porch that gave way to the front entrance. There elegantly carved, shellacked wood doors met patrons.

  An oval pond covered by a small zigzag footbridge and filled with irises, carp, and smooth green paddle stones graced the front lawn. Sections of that space had efficiently been devoted to Japanese wisteria and trained black and white pines planted in granite chips or nestled among small Himalayan boulders. Sheared dwarf azaleas in outrageous splashes of color winked amid strategically placed, tiny stone walls that gave the entire landscape a layered look, as though it were cut into the side of a mountain.

  A small, hand-painted oval just above the door read CHAYA, followed by what Sasha could only assume was the same name written in Japanese calligraphy. Discreet peace reigned here off the beaten path, and she wondered at the effort that must have gone into restoring such simple beauty in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina.

  Sasha’s gaze swept the gorgeous terrain. A weeping cherry spilled pink blossoms onto the green carpet of lawn and dusted the slate steps. Graceful roses bowed, offering delicate white blossoms as a generous welcome. Small artificial ridges in the lawn held slate and carefully selected stones to bookend lilies, wildflowers, elephant grasses, and small bonsais, while granite Yukimi lanterns dotted the front garden. She tried not to gape, but then gave in. This enchanted garden seemed to have been transported from the places she’d visited while on assignments abroad, but had never expected to see in New Orleans.

  She glimpsed Shogun, about to ask him how he’d found such an oasis, and then thought better of it. Instead she trained her attention on the carefully manicured yew trees set in huge Japanese ceramic pots as though waiting patiently for visitors on the porch. It was all so pretty that it made her pleasantly suspicious that Fairies had been at work. A few ducks lazily strolled across the small area of green, capturing her attention before she really noticed Shogun’s hopeful expression in her peripheral vision. She stared at the carp disturbing the water lilies in their relentless search of water fleas instead.

  “This is a place of compromise, a crossroad of cultures, and thus a good place for a diplomatic session,” Shogun finally said in a calm tone with a half smile. “French architecture, but Japan’s sensibilities . . . both Japanese and Chinese tea and serenity in a city known for its lattes and excitement. A wall around the establishment to protect the gardens, but not enough of a barrier to keep out the beauty of New Orleans’s diversity. I thought this would be a good place to have this very difficult conversation between Shadow Wolf and Werewolf leadership.”

  Sasha stopped walking. “What makes you say difficult conversation?”

  “Because you honor-battled Dana to have it, and you haven’t said two words to me on the way over since. If it was a casual request of me that you had, then we would have been engaged in walking discourse. Instead we’ve arrived here in companionable silence. I’m intrigued . . . but then you’ve always known that I was.”

  She dragged her gaze away from his and stared at the entrance. “You said they had a gift shop.”

  Although it had taken no more than ten minutes to enter the tea salon, hit the gift shop, and score a T-shirt, pair of sweats, and some rubber sandals, then hustle to the ladies’ room to change, she also knew that the longer it took her to get to the bottom line, the harder it would be to just spit out what she needed from Shogun.

  Blatant sexual tension always thickened the air between them whenever he was near; it was an invisible force that neither would confirm nor deny, but it was there regardless. That fact disturbed her to no end. And that it had risen within her like a beast when Hunter was at his worst, when he needed her most, ate away at her very soul. It shouldn’t have been there at all, she silently admonished herself while changing into gift-shop apparel. Yet she knew it might be a bargaining chip Shogun would use . . . and if so, then what?

  Sasha quickly shoved her glass-shined shoes into the shopping bag they’d given her in the gift shop, soles down, and then neatly folded her uniform to fit into the bag without squishing it. Her hat went on top of the pile. She had to stop stalli
ng; this was ludicrous.

  She looked in the mirror at the pale green T-shirt, which bore a white oval logo of the salon on its right shoulder and the name of the establishment spelled out in fine Japanese calligraphy below. “Not another humiliating public display,” she said quietly into the mirror to her inner wolf, and then picked up the shopping bag and headed out of the fragrant, eucalyptus-bathed enclosure.

  Even the bathrooms were pretty. If she knew anything about the male species at all, she knew she’d been lured to this place of calm majesty where he could get her to relax. Mental foreplay . . . good God she was in trouble.

  Sasha stopped for a moment and looked around, fighting the roiling anxiety that trapped her. Dark mahogany-toned woods had been painstakingly carved with intricate patterns of dragons, birds, and trees. Open-air architecture surrounded her with exposed beams and carved pillars. Delicate rice paper screens separated rooms. Sasha looked through the center of the establishment to where patrons sipped tea and consumed Japanese sweets on bonsai-laden decks, or leaned on the rails enjoying the man-made waterfall below. Gently arching stone bridges created footpaths over small, gurgling streams in the back garden while sleeper steps allowed patrons to continue their meditative walks up to tiny, private mezzanines and ponds designed for tranquility.

  Oh, yes . . . he’d truly brought her to an exquisite oasis, one that did anything but relax her. Sasha sighed; this was gonna be a tough meeting, indeed.

  “Ma’am, your party is this way,” a demure hostess in a kimono said, leading her to the booth that Shogun had selected. The woman’s thick southern drawl was slightly jarring juxtaposed with the Asian motif, but her warm smile gently fused the cultures.