Dee sat trembling on the bed, a glass of whisky in her hand. Whisky? She never drank whisky. She glanced over at Baron, back in his human form, and remembered the huge black wolf he had turned into.
She quickly drained the glass, wincing at the taste. She was a… She was…
Baron pulled a chair up closer to the bed, turning it around to straddle it. And she imagined that beneath the scowl and the beard, he was feeling concerned for her. “Take a deep breath. Don’t want you panicking again.”
As if that hadn’t been embarrassing enough the first time around. But a little shock was justified, she told herself, as she fought to regain a small dose of pride. She was a… “I’m a werewolf,” she stated flatly. Maybe hearing it out loud would help.
“No. Not a werewolf.” From his tone, it sounded like she’d just insulted Baron. “A shape shifter. A wolf, and a human. Not a half-breed of either.” His eyes narrowed. “But what I’m far more interested in is how you came to be… one of us.”
That sounded ominous. “How does it usually happen?”
Baron hesitated, and Dee knew that whatever he said next was going to be a hedge. “In a variety of ways. But it’s always voluntary. The convert knows exactly what they’re getting into and accepts it wholeheartedly. To my knowledge, being converted against your will isn’t even possible. So how did you manage to have a wolf on board without even knowing what it was?”
Dee considered her answer carefully. It sounded like Baron was far from happy with her so far, and admitting to being kidnapped, admitting that she’d been turned into this thing against her will? It was like admitting you’d snuck into an exclusive club through the back door. And that was always right before the bouncers escorted you straight back out again. Which, in this case, was likely to happen at the pointy end of a knife.
But what else was she going to say? She didn’t even know how it had happened.
Besides which, these men, for all their cold intimidation, were turning out to be the lesser of two evils. The scientists had tortured and experimented on her, while the men in front of her had looked after her, got her out of harm’s way, put her on a soft bed, tried to keep her calm and comfortable.
“I was kidnapped,” she said finally, hoping that honesty was, indeed, the best policy. “I don’t know who they were, but they held me in a lab for days and tortured me. Tried all sorts of experiments. I’m guessing they were trying to implant the… wolf.” Damn, but it was still so difficult to put that into words. But the presence was still there, alert, waiting. Watching.
“What kind of experiments?”
She explained it as best she could, fighting back terror at the memories, detailing the needles, the surgery, the electric shocks. Halfway through, Baron refilled her glass, waiting patiently while she sipped the strong liquor, waited for her hands to stop shaking, until she found the courage to continue.
“The last experiment,” she said finally, staring at the bedspread, telling herself this would all be over soon. “That was the one that worked. They took a sample of my blood. Took it away, then came back later and put it back into my vein. I don’t know what they did to it, but then suddenly I had this thing in my head offering to kill them all.”
Baron was listening with rapt attention. “What exactly did it offer you? How did it communicate with you?”
“It was like a series of images in my head. Ideas. Emotions, maybe. It was very angry and showed me a picture of the scientists dead on the floor, covered in blood.”
Baron regarded her suspiciously. “You don’t strike me as a particularly violent sort,” he observed carefully.
In contrast to Baron himself, Dee thought, who looked like he was quite capable of ripping a man limb from limb. She glanced down at herself, still wearing scrubs, dried blood coating her hands – what a sight she must make. But it wasn’t surprising that the truth was so glaringly obvious. She had trouble even killing spiders, preferring to catch them and release them outside. “Not usually, no.”
Baron continued to watch her, perplexed, curious. “So a wolf was forced to merge with you, and then it offered you an act of violence that you would normally find utterly repugnant.” He shook his head. “You should be stark raving mad by now.”
“Why should I be?” she objected. “I was scared, but not out of my mind. I’m not so weak willed as to faint at the sight of a little blood.” Okay, so she’d thoroughly panicked at the sight of a man turning into the largest wolf she’d ever seen, but… She glanced down, knowing there was plenty of blood still clinging to her. Despite her words, she was a little surprised that she was still able to hold a rational conversation. Especially when said conversation involved werewolves, mad scientists and macabre agreements to kill people.
Baron raised an eyebrow at her protest. “Even in the best of conversions, if the human can’t accept the wolf, then the pair of them go mad. I’ve seen it happen.”
Dee thought back over those terrifying moments, the surge of rage in her head, the cold terror as the spectre of death stared down at her. “But I did accept it,” she said, almost talking to herself.
“What?”
“I did accept it,” she repeated. “The offer to kill them. They were going to kill me, so I told the wolf that it could kill them.”
In fitting with the inexplicable events of the day, both men suddenly relaxed, as if her admitting to being a killer bent on violent revenge made everything okay. What sort of company was she keeping here?
“Makes sense,” the henchman by the door muttered, while Baron just breathed a relieved sigh.
“We’ll need to talk about this more,” Baron said. “But for now, I have bigger problems on my hands. So let’s deal with a more urgent issue.” He fixed Dee with a steely look. “You’ve become a shape shifter. It goes without saying that we’re a rather secretive lot. Humans on the whole do not and cannot know about us. So, until we figure out just what happened to you, you’re going to have to stay here.”
Dee nodded, having rather expected as much. And, in all honesty, it was something of a relief to know she would be kept here for a little while with more of her kind, where she could learn about what she was and how to control the wolf and what this all meant. “I’m happy to stay, but my mother and sister… I need to tell them I’m alive. And safe. Am I safe?” she asked, then went on without waiting for an answer. “I don’t have to mention the wolf thing. I know that’s off limits, and you could even listen in on everything we say if you like,” she added, as the frown on Baron’s face grew deeper. “But they’ll be worried sick, and I…” She trailed off.
“You’ve asked this already,” Baron said softly, gentle and stern at the same time. “The answer is still no.”
“They could be thinking I’m dead for all I know.” It came out quiet, defeated.
“Perhaps that’s for the best.” Baron nodded to the other man, then headed for the door. “I’ll send someone up to look after you,” he said, closing the door behind him. Then he was gone, leaving her with a much less accommodating guard, a grim smirk on his lips and a dagger balanced on the tip of his finger.
As Baron let himself out of Dee’s room, his mind traced out possibilities for the future, and the myriad of plans and good intentions that could go astray. Whoever had kidnapped her most likely wanted her back. From the sound of it, she hadn’t fully bonded with the wolf yet, which meant that madness was still a very real risk. And even if she chose to stay here, to comply with the rules of the Den and the Council, Caroline could still refuse to accept her. As alpha female, she had the absolute right to refuse new members and, if that happened, Dee would either have to find another Den to join or be put down.
But aside from all that, there was the question of whether the girl even wanted to stay. Converts were usually chosen very carefully and spent several years being educated before they were converted. And they usually came with a very particular set of qualifications – they were loners, with few ties, no loose ends, minimal friends or family. The one absolute requirement of becoming a shifter was that the convert leave his or her old life behind. The estate became their home. The shifters became their family. There was no room for anything else.
Dee came with connections and complications galore. She’d already mentioned a family back in London. She would probably have friends. A flat, maybe. A job, most likely. A boyfriend?
Fuck, if she had a husband or children then they were in deep shit. In such cases, faking the convert’s death was the cleanest, quickest way to deal with all the loose ends, but Dee hadn’t chosen this for herself. And if the terms of her conversion were presented to her in such a cold, callous way, she could become a liability. She would agree to their terms, of course, because if faking her death wasn’t an amicable solution, then death was still the answer, but there would be no faking involved. And after she’d agreed to live by their rules, her dissatisfaction would eat away at her, and sooner or later she would seek to escape, maybe go public and risk exposing them all, and that could lead to the extinction of their entire species.
It very nearly had done, several times throughout history, and was the reason they had the Council overseeing things now. The Italy-based control centre consisted of the wisest and most experienced shifters, and it governed all their interactions with human culture, decided the location and size of each Den, determined how many new converts could be made each year, and maintained a team of elite soldiers to deal with problems that got out of hand.
One thing at a time, Baron told himself, heading down the wide stairs. First, he had to see Caroline about whatever this latest drama with the Council was, and then they could sort out Dee’s future, assuming Caroline didn’t decide to kill her on sight when he explained her unconventional conversion.
Caroline was waiting in the sitting room, pacing, her every movement as sleek and graceful in human form as she was as a wolf.
“What have the Noturatii done now?” Baron asked without preamble. For all his love of needling Caroline, the safety and welfare of the Den came first, every time, and the Noturatii were their closest and biggest threat. He was in no mood to play games when they were involved.
“How’s the rogue?” Caroline asked, ignoring his question. For once, Baron wasn’t in the mood to lock horns with her.
“Contained. For now. She says she was converted by force, but it seems she reached a preliminary agreement with the wolf, regardless. So she’s not insane. Yet. Silas is watching her.”
Caroline seemed surprised by the explanation so easily given, her tightly defensive stance easing a little. It wasn’t very often that Baron missed the opportunity to push back when she decided to push him.
“So what about this call from the Council?” Despite any grumbling that went on, every shifter had the utmost respect for the Council, any wolf more than a few years past their conversion having seen first-hand how many crises their guidance and wisdom had diverted. The Council’s rulings were absolute, and their requests for assistance drew immediate and violent action on their behalf.
Caroline snarled, teeth bared. “The Noturatii have started a new campaign. They’re kidnapping wolves. France has reported two missing from its Den. Italy’s lost one, and so has Spain. And get this – the Grey Watch sent a politely worded letter to the Council warning them to be on guard.”
As with all societies, shape shifters had their detractors, and not all wolves belonged to Dens or answered to the Council. The Grey Watch were a law unto themselves, wolves who roamed the few remaining wildernesses of Europe. Thankfully they were retreating further and further into Russia and Asia as humanity expanded to fill every corner of the globe, but England had its very own pack, in the Kielder Forest in Northumberland.
“Fuck me,” Baron swore softly. “It’s a bad day in hell when the Grey Watch gets involved.” Reclusive to a fault, the Grey Watch embraced all manner of nature worship and shunned all facets of modern life, completely cutting ties with their past upon conversion. Wolves from Il Trosa – literally ‘The Pack’, the larger organisation to which the Dens belonged – were at least allowed to remain in human society. They drove cars, and some even had jobs. But members of the Grey Watch seemed to abandon all but the most primitive aspects of their humanity. And of course, there were other… complications.
But Baron had the sinking feeling that the Grey Watch was the least of their problems. “Dee – the girl upstairs – she said she was kidnapped. Held in a lab and tortured. She says the men who took her wanted to convert her into a wolf. And against all odds, it looks like they succeeded.”
Caroline paced restlessly across the room again. “So you think she was taken by the Noturatii? That makes no sense. They’ve been on our tails for centuries, but they’ve always sought to preserve the ignorance of humanity as much as we have. Why the sudden change to kidnapping? It’s messy. Risky. If they’re taking wolves, that’s one thing, but snatching humans? People notice when people go missing. They make police reports. And then sooner or later, someone always escapes, and then someone talks, and the Noturatii don’t want that any more than we do. Besides, they want us all dead – hell, they’ve been trying to exterminate us since the Middle Ages. For them to be trying to create new converts makes absolutely no sense.”
Baron glanced at the ceiling, imagining their newest recruit sitting upstairs, no doubt attempting to hold a fruitless conversation with Silas. “Nonetheless, it seems the most obvious conclusion. No one but the Noturatii have the knowledge or resources to be running experiments on shifters. We need to find out more about what happened to this girl. And get Simon to up security around the manor. I don’t want so much as a field mouse crossing this estate without us knowing about it.”