Moonlight: The Big Bad Wolf (Black Swan 4)

by Danann, Victoria

  Elora sat back and sighed. "Okay. Busted."

  Just then Helm started fussing so that she had to jiggle with a little more enthusiasm.

  "Allow me," Ram said. "My wife became very attached to a pack of wolves in my grandfather's forest. 'Tis a nature preserve in Northern Ireland. 'Tis uncertain who adopted who, but I suspect the wolves would say they adopted Elora and her dog. To make a long story short, they gave her refuge and protection. She gave them names."

  Grey looked amused and turned to Elora. "And you named one of them after me?" She nodded. "Well. It was very nice of you to be thinking of me. Was he alpha?"

  Elora's smile was blinding. "He was. Is." Her smile faltered and clouded over as memories flitted across her face. Her eyes started to brim.

  Stalkson Grey frowned. "What happened?"

  Elora blinked rapidly and sniffed. "He saved my life." She looked down at the baby. "And Helm's. Just a few hours before he was born. But... Don't ask me to retell the story. Please. Some of the wolves..."

  Ram interjected, "Some of the wolves were killed that day and she feels responsible because they were tryin' to protect her." Stalkson looked at Elora with renewed interest. "Glen, the kid who was just here... He and I gave them a very fine funeral."

  "Here." Elora brightened and jostled Helm so that she could get to her phone. "Look at my puppies. My dog, Blackie, is the father."

  Grey looked at the photos, but his amusement had been replaced with a look of displeasure.

  "These little ones are half dog?" He was incredulous, a little horrified, not being able to believe that someone would deliberately weaken wolf genetics.

  Hearing the prejudice in his tone, Elora was indignant on Blackie's behalf. "The bitch came in heat. There were rival wolves, but my dog won her fair and square."

  The werewolf studied Elora's face for a few seconds and then looked down at the photos again. "You do know those are not your puppies, don't you?"

  "Oh yes. I just call them that. I'm not going to keep more than one or two."

  "You..." He was going to tell her that she couldn't own wild creatures, not even half wild creatures, but Elora held her hand up to look at the phone. "That's Farnsworth. Whister's on the roof pad and waiting for you."

  Grey hesitated and then rose to leave. He wasn't sure he could change her mind in under a minute. She seemed to have a strong point of view.

  Ram asked if he knew the way and offered to escort him. The werewolf king more or less snorted at the suggestion that he didn't know where he was, after he'd been given a tour. He shook hands with Ram, nodded at Elora and drew a collective feminine sigh in the mess as he walked past.

  The combination of his beautiful hair pulled back in a leather thong and his muscular athleticism, common to natural predators, gave him an air of danger and a graceful economy of movement that was irresistibly appealing. He turned heads but either didn't care or was oblivious.

  Without a segue way that made sense to anyone except Elora, she turned back to Ram. "You know, I've been thinking the past couple of days about Litha and her interdimensional slippage."

  "Storm says 'tis called 'ridin' the passes', whatever that means. But what about it?"

  She handed Helm over to his dad who had finished eating so that she could try and eat, if not enjoy, wilted asparagus under cold Hollandaise sauce. "Well..." She looked up at him through thick reddish-brown lashes.

  Ram's eyes widened a little and he started shaking his head. "No. No. No. No. No." She smiled. He shook his head again. "No. I mean it. No."

  "I'm not saying now. Maybe after Helm is grown? I want... Maybe I kind of need to find out what happened with the Ralengclan, find out if any of my family survived." She trailed off.

  Ram looked thoughtful. "After Helm is grown?" She nodded. "So, is he to be an only elfling then?"

  Elora sighed deeply as she looked around. "Depends on what happens with the IBD I guess. I'm not bringing more babies into a life of captivity. Growing up in military secure quarters?" She pressed her lips together and shook her head. "The only difference between this and palace grounds is what you call it."

  Ram looked crestfallen. As someone passed the table he looked up and smiled, but his focus came right back to Elora and the conversation at hand.

  She continued. "If we were able to reclaim our vision, our stone house by the stream with elfren and puppies growing up outside walls... That would be different."

  Ram felt like he'd let her down. He knew she was doing her utmost to be upbeat about their predicament, but sometimes, when she didn't know she was being watched, he observed her looking melancholy. On a winter night in an ancient New Forest hunting cottage, he had promised to make her dreams come true. Instead, he had pressured her into reliving her nightmare of strict confinement.

  He felt a wave of guilt and helplessness wash over him, and helplessness didn't easily share space with a proactive male, especially not one who was accustomed to affecting outcomes by force of will.

  There was not a thing he could do to protect his little family if they left Jefferson Unit. For Paddy's sake, he might not even be able to protect them inside Jefferson Unit. That became fairly evident when five French-speaking vampire from some random dimension just popped in for dinner. To be secure, Helm and Elora would have to sleep in the middle of a knights' barracks. If there was such a thing, which, of course, there was not.

  The bottom line was that celebrated hero, Sir Rammel Aelshelm Hawking, didn't know how to keep his wife and baby safe. And he was hating every microsecond of it! Awake or asleep, he was going to resent every fucking minute until he could turn to his mate and say, "Get your stuff. We're goin' home."

  Farnsworth had booked a commercial flight for Grey from Newark to Spokane and put him in first class as a diplomatic gesture of goodwill. Even so, nine hours of traveling high above the ground, disconnected, was a harrowing experience for a werewolf.

  When he reached Spokane, he headed straight for the FedEx office. The last thing he needed was more time in a transport vehicle. So he crammed his boots and jacket into his travel bag and shipped his bag to the reservation border station. He knew he was taking a chance by leaving his travel ID and money in his bag, but the reward was going to far outweigh the risk. Naturally he got some double takes from people who noticed he was walking around barefoot in winter.

  He jogged from the airport to the cover of trees, feeling joyful to be on the ground and away from the noises and smells of tightly packed crowds of humans. It was just twenty eight miles to the western border of the reservation - an easy run for a wolf still in his prime. Stripping out of the remaining clothes, he collapsed into wolf form then stretched his neck and limbs. He allowed himself a whine of pure pleasure in the feeling of freedom as he headed toward the first climb.

  When he reached the reservation overlook, he whined again. Home. So good to be home.

  He was coming back with a heart that was a little less heavy. Certainly the scientist had made no promises other than to send people to investigate, but that was progress because it was something, where there was nothing before.

  When he reached the edge of the community made up of log buildings and lodges that blended with the environment so well as to be almost invisible by satellite, he shifted into human form. Some of the young ones in wolf form came bounding to meet him with happy yapping, ears down, rear ends wiggling pretending to challenge him in play. He laughed and gave each one a little tumble.

  So good to be home.

  CHAPTER_7

  Two days later Storm and Litha met Sol in the knights' lounge for a late coffee by the fire. Well, it was late for Sol on east coast time, but just after dinner for the Californians.

  Storm told the server to add Baileys for all three.

  "Baileys? Is there a reason why you think my edge needs to be smoothed out tonight?" Sol asked.

  "Matter of fact, there is." Sol arched a brow as he took a sip of Irish coffee. "I've been thinking about what you said abou
t wanting to retire." Sol sat up straighter, thinking a favorable announcement was coming next. "It's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and a great honor to be considered." Sol brightened, looking even more pleased, which just made it harder for Storm to say what had to be said. "I'm not the right man for the job."

  Sol seemed to visibly wilt at that. He sat back allowing the plush cushions of the chair to mold around him like a comforting hug. He nodded slightly and brought his cup to his lips looking thoughtful.

  "But I do want to recommend someone."

  A tiny bit of the tension in the furrows between Sol's brows smoothed out. "Really? Someone I know?"

  "Sort of. Someone you just met. Glendennon Catch. He translated for the, um, vampire the other night."

  Sol gaped openly before laughing out loud. "That baby? He's not even at the age of declaration. Not to mention that he can't keep his pants up around his waist where they belong. Does he really think the rest of us care to know that he's wearing Cameron tartan boxers?"

  Storm cocked his head and looked amused. "I didn't know you were an expert on plaids."

  Nemamiah's ears turned pink. "There's a lot about me you don't know."

  Storm quietly studied his mentor. "No doubt. Likewise, there's a lot you don't know about him." Sol responded with an abbreviated snort. Storm leaned forward and put his forearms on his knees. "Do you remember when I buzzed my hair and bleached it platinum blonde?"

  "You didn't!" Litha sounded part horrified and part intrigued. Storm cut his eyes at her, noting the sudden interest.

  A slow smile spread across Sol's face and grew into a chuckle. "You looked ridiculous."

  "Okay." Storm nodded agreeably. "How do I look now?"

  Sol's expression returned to his characteristic sobriety. "Point taken. Make your case."

  Storm set his coffee cup down carefully. "Alright. You said it yourself. It's a new world. Or should I say worlds? New challenges are going to put some strain on The Order. The only way it survives is by revising perspectives and goals, then reorganizing. That kind of overhaul is for the young.

  "The kid is unique. Brilliant and so multi-talented that nobody wants to put him in a box. There's simply nothing he can't do. He masters everything he tries. Effortlessly."

  "And you think he can manage the wild bunch?" Sol's gaze wandered over the other people occupying the lounge, his eyes resting on various active duty knights here and there. "They won't just follow because somebody says, 'I lead'. Add that he's just a kid..."

  "He's impressive, Sol. In every way you can think of.

  "Simon gave him lead on the rescue operation when Elora was missing. He was put in charge of the snooty head of medical who's a pretentious asswipe, and a veteran Whister pilot with enough hubris for a squadron. And he did okay." That was high praise coming from Storm. The two people sitting with him both knew him well enough to recognize that.

  "That pilot..." A grin flashed over Storm's face as he seemed to be remembering. "He told me that the kid thing is just a weird choice of disguise; that Glen's balls are big and hard like the ones they use in croquet."

  Sol looked unconvinced. "Okay. I get it. You think he's a gift to Black Swan from the gods. I still don't like the way he dresses."

  "We don't have a dress code though, do we?"

  "No. We don't," Sol admitted, adding, "as demonstrated by Z Team."

  The gleam that instantly flamed into life behind Sol's eyes when he mentioned Z Team might as well have been a banded news ticker running across his face announcing what he was thinking.

  Storm started shaking his head emphatically. "No. You're not turning Fuck Up Team loose on my protégé."

  Sol's smile was slow to form and disturbingly sardonic. "So now he's your protégé is he? If he's everything you say, he should be able to pass a little test."

  "A little test." Storm's intonation was flat and dry as dust.

  "He'll fit right in with the..."

  "Fuck ups."

  "Come on. All second sons are fuck ups, to one degree or another."

  "Thanks. Thanks a lot."

  "Don't forget that I'm including myself in that assessment. Before I was your lord and master, I was a trainee and then a knight. I started out as a second son just like most. I was going to say that he'll fit right in with the team that sets the standard for, ah, color."

  Storm groaned.

  Z Team had been stuck in Marrakesh because Marrakesh was such a mess that The Order simply didn't care if they left a trail of chaos behind them. Who would notice? Known as "back door land", nobody in Morocco would build a structure without a back door because they knew there was always a chance that, at some point in the future, they might need it themselves.

  The reason Marrakesh was a big draw for vampire was because it had become a famous pleasure destination - permanent, year round spring break, with a big streak of danger that was curiously appealing to a certain personality type. It was the sort of place that brought "s" words to mind: skanky, seedy, sleazy, shitty, shaggy, shifty, and sodding.

  Owning an I-survived-vacation-in-Marrakesh tee shirt was good for permanent water cooler creds. People knew when they bought a ticket to the capital of decadence that lots of people with round trip tickets never showed up for a return flight. In an inexplicable quirk of human psychology, that seemed to be part of the draw - at least for a percentage of the very young demographic who were old enough to travel, but not old enough to realize when they were being reckless or stupid or both.

  Regarding Sol's reference to Z Team's appearance, they rocked bad boy in ways that left little to the imagination. Their tastes ran toward colorful tats and hair streaked with color du jour. They avoided piercings that might compromise them in a fight. Giving an opponent something metal in your skin to grab and rip was even dumber than people who chose Marrakesh as a vacation spot. Although there was a rumor that at least one of them had a piercing in his pants that was designed to pleasure the little ladies.

  Z Team took the usual second son rebellious nature to a new level. The idea of calling them knights went against every pressed crease in Sol's wardrobe.

  He would have loved to tell them where to get off while planning to give them a push a minute before they got there. Unfortunately, these guys not only fit the profile well enough to be recruited, but they had excelled in certain areas of field duty, repeatedly demonstrating extra keen instincts and hunter talent that just couldn't be denied or overlooked. They were high maintenance, but far too valuable to waste.

  "I call fair, Sir Storm. You want me to challenge myself to consider grooming an untried trainee, not yet old enough to vote, for the job of Sovereign of the most powerful hunter unit in Black Swan? I return the challenge by saying he needs to give me some reason to think he could be up to the job in two years.

  "I'll send him to Marrakesh in some capacity of authority over Z Team and see how he fares."

  Sol had to chuckle at the shocked look on Storm's face, which may have even paled a little. "Authority over Z Team? Even I wouldn't walk into that. Even you wouldn't walk into that."

  Recovering his characteristic serious expression, Sol said, "That's exactly the point. I would walk into that. And anybody planning to take my place is going to have to be prepared to do what needs to be done." Sol's gaze flicked to Litha and back. "Have you asked the boy if he's interested in administrating Hunter? Do you know for a fact that he wants the job?"

  "No. I thought it would be pointless to bring it up without talking to you first."

  Litha had been very quiet throughout this exchange, but she was a good listener and, being something more than half demon, she was also exceptionally good at negotiating.

  "Maybe a compromise?"

  The way both men looked at her made her think she'd been transported to another time when little women were supposed to be seen, but not heard. For a second she wondered if she was going to be patted on the head and sent for more coffee with indulgent smiles and a wink between the two men. Se
eing her surprise and the tiniest suggestion of offense, Storm recovered first.

  "Of course, Litha. What do you think?"

  "It strikes me that, if it's a real test, and not just a patronizing way to dismiss, or sabotage, the prospect..." Sol raised an eyebrow at that, "...that it needs to be controlled to the extent possible. That would mean bringing this Z Team here."

  She directed her attention to Sol. "You'd be able to monitor your test and you wouldn't be taking a chance that you might have regrets later about throwing a lamb to wolves and walking away.

  "You'd be able to observe Glen's actions and reactions first hand, his mental processes and coping skills, ultimately - his success or failure."

  Both men frowned, but both were clearly considering the suggestion. Compromise was never fun. Naturally everyone wanted to have one hundred percent of their way one hundred percent of the time.

  After a few seconds, Storm said, "Would it be possible to shift some teams around and keep Marrakesh covered?"

  Sol absently ran his thumb over the design on his china cup. "Z Team here? Why don't we just gather up a dozen Rhinocerotidae and turn them loose in the hub? Less chaos and less destruction."

  Storm's intense gaze slowly became a wickedly hot smile. "But much less entertaining."

  Sol stared. "You think that much of this kid. Really?"

  "It's not just me. Call Simon and ask what the Edinburgh crusties think of him. If you want people to vouch for his dog walking and babysitting skills, call Ram or Elora. And, I'm not sure you want to know this, but I hear there are a lot of young ladies in Scotia who would be sorry to see him go."

  Sol couldn't believe he was considering shuffling some teams around for an experiment that was a recipe for catastrophe. He could kick himself for having started down that road.

  "I might agree, on the following condition. Since you're the one who put him up for the job, you're the one who needs to supervise for, eight weeks?"

  Storm couldn't believe he'd set himself up to be out-manipulated by Sol. Again. He looked at Litha who shrugged.