Lonely Werewolf Girl

Castle MacRinnalch and the surrounding estates were now full of werewolves. Rarely had so many been gathered in one place. It was a long time since they’d last come together for the funeral of a Thane, and the MacRinnalch Clan had grown since then.

Verasa strode into the council chamber. Even as a werewolf she was upright. It was rather difficult to carry oneself totally erect in werewolf form but Verasa refused to walk like a hulking beast. She was not expecting any surprises at the meeting. The Thane’s brother Kurian was never going to vote for anyone but Sarapen. Nor was his son Kertal or his daughter Marwanis. They were the most traditional of werewolves and while Verasa found this frustrating in some respects, she admired them in a way. Marwanis in particular was an intelligent young woman of great beauty and distinction. With her dark brown hair, large hazel eyes and perfect complexion, conservatively yet tastefully dressed, she was every inch what a female member of the ruling family should be. Rather different to certain others of the younger generation, reflected Verasa, ruefully.

Verasa sat next to Rainal. She poured herself whisky from the crystal decanter in front of her. Fine whisky from the clan estates, and fine crystal from France. It had been imported more than three hundred years ago by Hughan MacRinnalch, an uncle of the late Thane.

A large portrait of Hughan MacRinnalch hung in the castle’s banqueting hall. The clan had good reason to remember him fondly. He was the first werewolf of the modern era to take to business, and it was his dealings in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries that had set the clan on the road to its present wealth. While the MacRinnalch estates were of great intrinsic value, Hughan had added immeasurably to the MacRinnalch fortune with his forays into foreign trade, banking, and the nascent stock markets in Edinburgh and London. By the time the industrial revolution got going in the 1760s Hughan was in a position to invest heavily, and the clan’s wealth was further swelled by shipping, iron works, and the new manufacturing industries. Though much of the nation’s aristocracy frowned on trade, the MacRinnalchs had never turned their noses up at the prospect of making money.

There were signs of impatience around the table. With everyone in werewolf form, and the moon almost full above, tempers could be expected to wear thin very quickly. Sarapen tramped heavily into the chamber, not upright, but slightly bent as if ready to spring on anyone who dared to oppose him. It was obvious that Sarapen had arrived in a poor temper.

Sarapen did not return her salutation. Dominil merely spoke to annoy him; she was party responsible for his ill temper, as she well knew. Sarapen had visited her that afternoon. If he had been hoping to persuade her not to nominate Markus, it had been a hopeless mission from the first.

“I need no encouragement to oppose you,” replied Dominil. As she said this her eyes blazed. Faced with Sarapen, even Dominil could not keep her temper completely under control. Sarapen and Dominil had been lovers for a brief period, some years ago. It had ended very badly. Whatever had happened was secret between them but the antagonism between the pair had never lessened.

The flickering light from the log fire was reflected on Sarapen’s great fangs. On the opposite side of the table the two remaining Barons couldn’t help flinching, and were glad that they did not oppose Sarapen. Baron MacAllister’s own keep was some distance from the castle, and a stronghold that was difficult to attack. He might be glad of that before this affair was over.

Sarapen glowered at his mother. One of his votes was gone and he strongly suspected that she was behind it. Already Sarapen was feeling that he had had quite enough of meetings.

“Before we begin,” said Rainal. “I feel it is incumbent upon me, as secretary to the clan, to inform the council that there is already some dissatisfaction outside these walls. If there is no new Thane to officiate at the funeral tomorrow, the dissatisfaction will increase. Of course, I make no effort to influence this meeting. I merely inform you of the feelings among clan members.”

“I do,” said Sarapen. He rose to his feet. “This matter must be decided tonight. And it must be decided in my favour. I invite those wolves who were of a different mind last night to reconsider their opinions.”

As he said this, Sarapen slowly turned his head so that his gaze fell on every person present, and never did a more hostile or threatening gaze come from a MacRinnalch. Dominil met his eyes, and her lips pulled back so that her teeth showed.

Sarapen snarled. Rainal shifted nervously in his seat. It would be quite intolerable for fighting to break out at a meeting of the Great Council. The clan members currently surrounding the castle were not expecting their visit to the MacRinnalch homelands to be marred by violence. Yet Sarapen was not the only werewolf here who showed signs of being on a short fuse. Kertal had let it be known he was none to pleased at what had happened last night. Kertal was young and vigorous, his sister Marwanis equally so. It would not take much to make them support Sarapen in a fight. Already Rainal could sense the werewolves sliding their seats back an inch or two to make it easier to leap up if necessary.

“Why don’t you be quiet so we can vote,” said Markus, leaning far over the table towards Sarapen. Sarapen rose from his chair and let out a ferocious growl. Beside him Kertal also rose and next moment there were six werewolves on their feet, all roaring at each other. Seeing that matters were quickly getting out of hand, the Mistress of the Werewolves banged her fist on the table and spoke with all the authority at her command.

Great claws clenched and unclenched as the werewolves struggled to control their tempers. It was difficult to ignore a direct command from the Mistress of the Werewolves. They took their seats, uneasily. Sarapen was the last to sit down. Already he could feel that he was being outmanoeuvred by his mother and Markus.

Thrix had been wondering all day what she would do. She’d rather have stayed out of the trouble that would follow another undecided vote. But her anger had grown under the moon. She couldn’t forgive Sarapen for dashing her designs from her desk. Nothing could have been more disrespectful. Besides, there was the fashion show in New York to which her mother apparently had access. Thrix would like to be represented at that show. She raised her hand.

Last night the vote had gone seven to five in Sarapen’s favour. Now it was six votes for each candidate. No one had the required nine votes. Sarapen rose slowly to his feet. His face was a mask of utter fury but he did not speak. Instead, he turned on his heel and marched swiftly from the room.

“The next meeting will be at the time of the next full moon,” said Rainal. The werewolves rose, and filed out of the room, each lost in their own thoughts, wondering what the outcome of this might be.