Baron was sitting at his desk working on his computer when his phone vibrated, and he frowned as he picked it up. There were few people who ever sent him a message – the Council would send occasional cryptic instructions or requests, with more sensitive information handled via more secure channels, or any of the wolves out of the estate might send a message if they ran into trouble. Tank and Silas were late back from taking Dee to the doctor, but they were his two most capable fighters, so trouble was hardly likely to-
Holy shit.
Due to complications at home, we have sent our package early. It is postmarked appropriately.
It was from the Council, and as cryptic as usual. The only ‘package’ they should be sending was an emissary to assess Dee as a new recruit, and the ‘postmark’ could only be the Council brand that marked all of their operatives. The emissary hadn’t been due until later in spring, but Baron was just as glad to get it over with now. Visits from the Council tended to be complicated. He’d tell Dee as soon as she got back…
“Baron?” John said from across their bedroom. He was sitting in front of a computer console playing some video game or other, a clear view of the front lawn from his vantage point. “There’s some joker in a bad suit standing at the front gate.”
Baron was out of his seat in a second, leaning over John and his slice ’em dice ’em character on screen to peer out the window.
“What the hell? How about a little notice, you pompous shits?”
“Yeah, good luck with that one,” John said disinterestedly as Baron dashed for the door. He shifted on his way along the hall, bolting down the stairs in wolf form and making it to the ground floor in record time. He was in such a hurry he barely managed to shift back to human form before he was out the front door, and then it was a battle to know whether to run for the gate to keep the emissary from waiting, or to maintain a dignified walk, a show of poise that could just as well piss the guy off.
In the end, he opted for a brisk walk, greeting the man with a tight smile. “Morning, sir. Can I help you?” Text message aside, no one, but no one got through that gate without the proper authority.
The man didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he held up his left hand. A pale brand sat in the centre of the palm, no more complex than three straight lines at an angle to each other, the sort of thing that could easily have been caused by a burn during a careless moment in the kitchen. But it was the official mark of the Council, branded onto each and every member chosen to directly serve the shifter version of aristocracy, and the mute display had Baron keying in the access code and opening the gate as fast as humanly possible.
“Welcome to England, sir. I trust your travels were uneventful.”
“They always are,” the man said, a wry quirk of a smile on his lips as he picked up his small travel case. It was a safe bet that it contained more weapons than clothing. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be doing my job.”
There was no point introducing himself. The emissary no doubt knew exactly who Baron was, and a small, childish part of himself was resenting this intrusion with all the passion of a two-year-old throwing a tantrum.
It wasn’t the lack of notice. It wasn’t even the high-handed way the Council tended to deal with things. No, the thing that pissed Baron off was that for the first time in months – no, years – there was someone on the estate who outranked him.
It was a petty complaint, even to his own ears. Council emissaries were trained as warriors, not just in fighting as a wolf, but also as a human. The man standing before him would be an expert in not one, but two martial arts, capable with a sword, a pistol and a bow, and trained in espionage until it was not a skill but an art.
Should Baron go toe-to-toe with the wolf in a fight, he would almost certainly come out the loser. But the thing that rankled him was not that he would lose. It was that he was forbidden from ever challenging the man. So the question of whether he was the more capable fighter or not would remain forever unanswered.
Council members themselves, of course, were not just fierce warriors, but diplomats, masters of strategy, patience, psychology and philosophy, charged with the sacred task of preserving their species for generations to come.
It was not a task that Baron envied at all.
“I’m Andre,” the man said, giving Baron a smooth once-over. “Please forgive the lack of notice. Given the disturbances from the Noturatii lately, we’re being more reticent than usual about our plans.”
“I see.” Fuck, things must be bad if even the Council was on edge. Baron returned the once-over, and if anything, what he saw only made him more tense. Despite the suit, there was no doubt that a warrior stood before him. Every movement was smooth, lithe, deliberate and efficient. Andre was scanning the estate in a confident, unhurried manner that implied he would obligingly kill anything that presented the least threat, and then his gentleman’s air would make him apologise for the mess afterwards. A stiff British accent had been coloured by his time in Italy, but it was clear the man was originally from England – though he must have left a long time ago, as Baron had never met him in all his years at the Den here.
“I’m afraid Dee’s out at the moment,” he began, not knowing if this was going to be a problem or not. The Council was not known for its patience. “She had a doctor’s appointment, and since we weren’t expecting you-”
“I’m in no hurry,” Andre said, his tone at once accommodating and commanding. “Perhaps, if you could show me to my room, I’ll freshen up, and then you can fill me in on how the young wolf has been progressing?”
It was a polite request, a question, not a demand, and yet Baron still felt like he’d just been given orders like a common servant.
“Of course. This way.” He led the man towards the manor, sending a Den-wide message from his phone alerting everyone to Andre’s presence. Strangers on the estate tended to be treated with a shoot first, ask questions later policy.
Caroline met them at the door, her characteristic scowl on her face, until she saw Andre. And then… well, in all honesty, it was hard to tell what she felt.
“Andre.”
There was the briefest, and yet most telling of pauses. “Caroline.”
“I didn’t realise it would be you.”
“You know each other?” Baron interrupted, not liking being left out of the loop.
“We met in Italy. Shortly after Caroline was converted,” Andre explained. And then said nothing more, which of course explained nothing at all.
“I see.”
“Would you like me to show you to your room?” Caroline offered, sounding almost eager. God, who the hell was this man, to get that kind of reaction from their resident heartless bitch?
But if Caroline was off balance from the unannounced arrival, then Andre was utterly unaffected, no doubt having known exactly who would be meeting him. And Baron was itching with curiosity to know more.
“If you would be so kind,” Andre answered, the perfect gentleman. “I’ll catch up with you a little later,” he said to Baron, a clear dismissal if he had ever heard one, and Baron fought to contain the glare he longed to shoot Caroline’s way.
“As you wish.” He prowled out of the room, heading for the library, determined to wring some answers out of the alpha female later.
Caroline was acutely aware of the man behind her as she led Andre up the stairs. Had it really been fifteen years? It seemed like yesterday.
“So you’re alpha now.” The smooth statement surprised her, and her foot caught the edge of the next step, a stumble quickly covered, and she glanced back at him.
“For the last five years. But I’m sure you knew that already.”
“I was briefed on the members of your Den, yes. And their respective histories.”
They reached the top of the stairs and turned left. But before they could get any further, Heron appeared from out of one of the hallways, and she looked both startled and delighted as she saw Andre. “Heshna, Andre,” she said with a smile. “It’s been a long time.”
“Heshna, Machia,” he said respectfully, giving her a slight bow.
Caroline was briefly surprised by the exchange, until she remembered that Andre had grown up on this estate. As the adopted son of a shifter couple, he’d been raised here until he was fifteen, when he and his family had moved to Italy. Though he’d left long before Caroline had arrived, Heron would have been here throughout his childhood, would have watched him grow up, helped raise him, and ‘Machia’, the term he’d used to greet her, meant ‘aunt’ in the Old Language.
Heron let out a pleased little laugh. “Always the gentleman. I’ll let you get settled in, but we must catch up when you have time. I’m sure you have some fascinating stories to tell.”
“It would be a pleasure.” Heron continued on down the stairs, leaving Caroline feeling slightly jealous of the easy camaraderie between the pair.
There were a number of visitors’ rooms permanently made up on the first floor, a precaution for exactly this sort of situation, and Caroline led Andre to one that would afford him the least disturbance and the greatest privacy.
“How’s Italy?”
“Warm.”
It was a hopeless attempt at small talk, and a far cry from the conversation Caroline wished to have, but one did not question a Council emissary, regardless of any shared history.
“This will be your room,” she announced, opening the door and preceding him inside. “There are towels in the bathroom, wireless internet on a secure connection, and you’ll find-”
“You’ve come a long way.”
“What?”
Andre had closed the door and was standing just in front of it, the sudden change of topic throwing Caroline off balance again. And if he had been anyone else, she might have resented how easily he could do that to her. Then again, if he had been anyone else, he wouldn’t have been successful.
Andre looked her over carefully, but the inspection was neither critical nor lewd. There was just a gentle curiosity and a hint of affection. The barest hint. His eyebrow twitched. A muscle tugged at the corner of his mouth, and Caroline found herself smiling almost bashfully.
“Yes. I suppose I have.” It was quite the understatement. As a newly converted wolf, Caroline had been out of control, too much anger and violence fuelling her actions, too little experience to temper rage with patience, and the only solution had been to send her to Italy for ‘retraining’. She’d been terrified at the thought, imagining all manner of torture, punishment and strict rules to make her life hell.
Instead, she’d been turned over to Andre’s care, a much younger, much less severe version of the man who now stood before her. Since then, of course, Andre had been through not just the Council’s specialist training, but a large number of assignments, many of them dangerous, some of them no doubt quite painful, and that sort of thing tended to change a person.
There was a mere five years age difference between them, but at Caroline’s conversion, Andre had been a wolf for five years already, and serving under the Council for three of them. To say he was naturally gifted was a gross understatement.
“Is there anything you need?”
Andre’s calm gaze didn’t waver. “No. Thank you.”
“I’ll leave you to unpack then.”
“I’m glad you made it,” Andre said softly. “For a while there, we weren’t sure you were going to.”
And that, at least, made Caroline smile, though it was her usual sardonic smirk that came out. “I hear that about almost every wolf we convert. And yet nine times out of ten, we somehow manage to pull through.”
Andre’s smile widened into a real expression, rather than the pale shadow of one he had been wearing. “It’s good to see you again,” he said as Caroline turned to leave. And if she felt her face warm as she closed the door… well, it was probably just the heating system playing up again.