Sylvan woke with her face nestled against a firm, warm, naked abdomen. Fingers played through her hair. She scented safety, familiarity, Pack. Stretching, she registered another body pressed against her legs. The Rover passed over the sensors built into the Compound approach road, causing an ultra-high-pitched signal that alerted the sentries on the inner perimeter to an oncoming vehicle. Opening her eyes, Sylvan smiled up at Niki. “Almost home.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Niki’s forest green eyes were mellow, content. As soon as Sylvan had fallen asleep, Niki’s wolf had settled, reassured that the Alpha was secure. The awful tension twisting through her insides, howling of danger and threat, had abated. Even the sex frenzy that clawed at her for release was blessedly quiet. “How do you feel?”
“Good.” Sylvan clasped Niki’s wrist and brushed a kiss over her knuckles. “Thank you.”
Niki rumbled in pleasure.
Sylvan sighed and caressed Andrew’s shoulder where he rubbed against her thigh. Revitalized by her nap, her urges tempered by Francesca’s attentions, she assessed the looming dangers. Two young females had disappeared. Misha had been attacked. Had that been an abduction attempt gone bad? Now a Vampire was asking a human medic about Were fever. Were fever and humans.
How would the human population react if news of this threat became widespread? At the very least, the negotiations in Washington would be seriously compromised, but politics were not her major concern right now. Forceful retaliation was. She doubted that many humans would be as sympathetic as Drake McKennan appeared to be.
But would even Drake take their side if she understood what was really at stake? Sylvan remembered the intensity in Drake’s voice when she’d said, We need to find a cure. As if the fever were Drake’s problem as much as hers. She’d seen the frustration in Drake’s eyes when she had refused to confide in her. Frustration and disappointment. Sylvan regretted turning aside Drake’s offer of help. Regretted turning her aside, although why that should be she wasn’t sure. But she’d grown up protecting Pack secrets, and now she was responsible not just for secrets, but lives. She couldn’t afford to trust anyone who wasn’t Pack, even though her instincts told her that Drake McKennan was different. Had Drake been a Were, she would have had the makings of an Alpha. Fearless, focused, passionate. Sylvan’s skin still carried the memory of Drake’s touch. She had been right to put distance between them. Being around the human disturbed her focus, and too much was at stake for her to forget her purpose. She must protect her Pack.
Sylvan’s wolf stirred, not in warning but with a message Sylvan couldn’t identify. An unusual sensation. Excitement and impatience. Hunger. Not sex frenzy, a deeper craving. She shifted uneasily, struggling to connect to the wolf, to the primal, instinctual core of her being. But whatever the wolf sensed, she could not reason it into clarity. She grumbled, frustrated.
“Alpha?” Niki asked in concern.
“It’s all right.” Sylvan rubbed her face against Niki’s smooth, hard stomach to calm her second. Niki was more closely attuned to her than any member of the Pack. When she hurt, Niki hurt. When she hungered, Niki hungered. When she was in danger, Niki stood ready to defend her. “A Vampire detective questioned the human medic this morning about Misha. She implied there were rumors, maybe more than rumors, of humans with Were fever.”
Niki caught her breath. “How? If it were true, we would know.”
“Possibly.” Sylvan pushed upright and draped her arm around Niki’s shoulders. Andrew wrapped his arm around her thigh. “But we need to prepare.”
The Rover slowed to a stop. They were home. The time had come for her to do what she was born to do. Defend her Pack.
“I want to see Misha first,” Sylvan said, “and then I want a war council. Find Max and Lara. And Callan and Val.”
“You expect an attack?” Niki asked, eyes going sharp.
“No,” Sylvan said. “We’re going hunting.”
*
Drake should have gone home to sleep. She was due back in the ER in ten hours, but the early morning meeting with Sylvan left her too hyped to sleep. She couldn’t stop thinking about Sylvan and deadly fevers and a newly discovered world she found as fascinating as it was dangerous. She might never have her many questions about Sylvan Mir answered, which left her feeling oddly hollow, as if she were missing out on something more important than she could even imagine. She’d have to live with the personal disappointment, but she couldn’t allow her ignorance about a deadly disease to continue. She had a job to do, so she turned around and walked back to the ER.
“Mary,” Drake said to the clerk in the ER file room, “could you pull all the charts on patients with a diagnosis of FUO in the last six months?”
The attractive African American woman, stylishly attired in a deep red skirt and jacket, glanced up from her computer and gave Drake a flat stare. “And you would need this when, Dr. McKennan?”
Drake grinned sheepishly. “Now?”
“Uh-huh.” Mary pointed to a foot-high stack of papers by her right hand. “You know what that is?”
“Nope.”
“Billing.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You know what happens to the money we get from billing?”
Drake concentrated. “Pays our salaries?”
“That and just about everything else around here,” Mary said.
“Double caramel latte or mocha?”
“Mocha.”
“Thank you,” Drake said. “Is an hour good?”
Mary smiled brilliantly. “After you deliver my coffee, try checking the conference room. Sophia already has the charts. You two doing a study or something?”
“Something like that,” Drake said quietly. She pointed a finger at Mary. “And you cheated.”
“Oh honey, you’re just easy.”
Mary’s laughter followed Drake down the hall as she headed to the lobby and the coffee kiosk. Sophia should be off-call now too, but she was back in the ER reviewing charts of patients with fever of unknown origin. She had to be looking for other cases of Were fever. Just curious or carrying out her Alpha’s orders? Thinking back to Sylvan’s unexpected appearance in the ER at six a.m. in search of Sophia, Drake assumed the latter. Angry, uncertain exactly why, she purchased Mary’s mocha and threaded her way through the incoming morning crew of nurses, residents, and other staff back to the ER. She’d almost made it to the double doors with the big red sign warning No Entry when a woman with skin a shade lighter than Mary’s coffee stepped into her path.
“Dr. McKennan,” the woman asked in a husky alto, “how did it feel to be threatened by an out-of-control Were? Did you fear for your life?”
“Who are you?” Drake asked.
The woman looked to be in her early thirties, dressed casually in blue jeans, low-heeled boots, and a fine-knit black sweater that clung to her swimmer’s shoulders and high, round breasts. She pointed to a plastic ID card clipped to the waistband of her jeans where a photo with her oval face, big dark eyes, and glossy black curls was clearly displayed.
“Becca Land. Albany Gazette. Did you call for security to contain the Were?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Drake said, although she was pretty certain she did know. Instantly furious at the accusations, Drake cautioned herself to say as little as possible until she got her temper under control.
Becca reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out a newspaper, letting it drop open to the front page and the photo of Sylvan and Drake with Misha. The angle of the shot made it look as if a snarling Sylvan—canines gleaming—was nearly on top of Drake. Drake wondered how many people were waiting for just this kind of “evidence” to prove that the Weres represented a danger to society.
“I’m following up on a report that a number of Weres threatened the ER staff this morning,” Becca said.
“Your information is incorrect. There was no threat. No danger. No problem at all.” Drake keyed in the code to open the ER doors. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“If you care about those Weres, Dr. McKennan, you’ll give me the true story.” Becca looked at the paper in her hand with distaste. “Because you can be sure that rags like this are only interested in selling papers, and they don’t care who suffers for it.”
Drake hesitated, studying the woman who watched her with unwavering dark eyes. Friend or foe? In the course of a day she had become aware of a war in progress—battle lines had been drawn—and she was still uncertain of the sides. A strong compulsion to protect Sylvan Mir made her decision easy. “All right.”
Becca held up a digital recorder. The red light blinked, indicating it was running. “On the record?”
Drake nodded. “I requested that Councilor Mir assist me in the examination of an agitated young patient. She was very helpful, and at no time was her behavior threatening or in any other way unrestrained. I never considered myself in danger and did not summon security.”
“The councilor has been photographed dozens of times over the last two years,” Becca said, “and she’s never appeared to be anything other than completely controlled. In fact, if you didn’t know, you’d think she was human.” Becca shook the paper. “She doesn’t look human here. What happened?”
One of her Pack was threatened—possibly dying. One of her young. Drake wondered how much more Sylvan was forced to hide every day in her public dealings. How much of herself she had to deny in order to achieve protection for her Pack. She thought of the TV images of Zachary Gates, the Vampire councilor who appeared as polished and sophisticated as any Wall Street CEO. Then she recalled his daughter’s raw sexual power, the crimson flash of her eyes, and knew humans were being allowed to see only a façade—one the human world would feel comfortable with. The price of survival for the Praetern species was apparently the denial of their fundamental being.
Furious at the injustice, Drake turned and walked away. “I have no further comment.”
*
After delivering Mary’s mocha latte, Drake knocked on the door to the conference room. Sophia sat at a long table with a dozen charts spread out in front of her. Her eyes widened and her nostrils flared when she saw Drake, but her expression seemed to be more surprise than anxiety.
“What?” Drake asked.
“Nothing,” Sophia said quickly.
“Have you found any more cases? Or is that something else the Alpha wouldn’t want you to tell me?”
Sophia straightened, her mouth tightening. “I might be a Were, but I’m also a medic. My responsibility is to all the patients. And I know the Alpha would not want me to put anyone—human or Were—in danger.”
“Sorry.” Drake pulled out a chair and sat down. She rubbed her face and shook the tension from her shoulders. “I didn’t mean to insult your professional integrity. And I know Sylv—your Alpha—is only trying to protect your Pack.”
“I think there are four cases,” Sophia said softly. “No one picked up on a pattern because they were all signed out as drug overdoses.”
“Not that uncommon a diagnosis in the ER population,” Drake agreed. “Patient profiles?”
“All girls. Aged fifteen to seventeen.”
“How many were human?”
Sophia’s deep blue eyes clouded. “All of them.”
Drake’s chest tightened. “I need to speak to your Alpha. Can you contact her?”
“Again?”
“What do you mean?”
Sophia blushed. “Sorry. Her scent—” She lifted a hand in Drake’s direction. “To us, it’s very distinctive.”
“Yes, well,” Drake said, an unexpected ripple of pleasure catching her off balance. She liked that she smelled like Sylvan, and had no idea what to make of that. “Does everyone who comes in contact with her…carry her scent then?”
“No.” Sophia frowned. “The centuri do, of course, but they are oath bonded to her. But I…I don’t recall ever scenting her on anyone else.”
“Must be because I just saw her,” Drake said. “How do I reach her?”
Sophia looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know. Perhaps call her office?”
“What about you? How would you…any of you, let her know of a problem?” Drake held up her hand when she saw Sophia’s face blank. “Don’t tell me the details. I know you can’t. Just—could you send her a message from me? It’s important that I speak with her.”
“Yes, but I can’t promise anything.”
Drake sighed and pushed to her feet. “Who can?”
*
“How is she?” Sylvan asked when Elena met her in the hall outside Misha’s room.
“She’s better. No fever, thankfully. The wound is trying to close, but she needs to shift to complete the healing. She tried, but she’s weak and doesn’t have enough control to do it voluntarily.”
“I’ll take care of her.”
“Wait.” Elena grasped Sylvan’s hand.
Sylvan gave Elena a questioning look. Niki would not have permitted Elena to physically confront her, but Sylvan took no issue, as they were alone and no challenge was implied. Elena and her mate Roger were beta wolves, lacking overt dominance tendencies but far from being submissive. Their drive was to guide and nurture the Pack, particularly the young, which explained why Elena was a medic and Roger a teacher. Sylvan valued their friendship and their contributions to the Pack. “What?”
“Your energy has changed. Your call is…dampened.”
Sylvan smiled ruefully. “Maybe now you’ll give Roger a rest.”
“There’s no need to worry about my mate. He has remarkable stamina.” Elena’s voice was soft with fondness, but her eyes were troubled as she searched Sylvan’s face. “What have you done to deplete yourself this way?”
“Don’t worry. There’s no danger.” Sylvan stroked Elena’s cheek with her fingertips. “Just worry about Misha.”
“We are here for you, Alpha. If you satisfy your needs outside the Pack, you’ll anger some important allies.”
“I don’t. Not in the way you think.” Sylvan refused to be dictated to by the traditionalists in the Were Coalition who believed Alphas should only mate with those of ancient blood. Some went so far as to insist Alphas limit their sexual encounters to highbred Pack members. Sylvan’s line was centuries old—her blood stronger than any wolf Alpha outside the Russian Tundra Pack. Even the Russians would not dare challenge her overtly, but her congress with a Vampire could provide ammunition to those who secretly might wish to unseat her. “What kind of Alpha would I be if I let others decide how I behave?”
Elena threaded her arms around Sylvan’s waist and rested her cheek on her chest. “Not the strong, infuriatingly stubborn Alpha we love.”
Laughing, Sylvan rubbed Elena’s back. “You’re tired. Let’s take care of Misha so you can get some rest.”
Niki appeared at the end of the hall. “We’re assembled in the gathering room, Alpha.”
“I’ll be there soon.” Sylvan kissed Elena’s forehead. “Open the door.”
Elena pushed the door open as Sylvan shifted. She bounded into the room and onto the bed next to Misha. She loomed over the adolescent and licked her face. Misha’s eyes opened and she gave a small cry of surprise before wrapping her arms around Sylvan’s neck. When Misha buried her face in Sylvan’s ruff, Sylvan rumbled low in her chest and called Misha’s wolf. Misha whimpered, trembling as her injured body struggled to give her wolf ascendency. With age and practice the shift would become harmonious, natural, but Misha was still young, still finding her balance. Sylvan broadcast more power, reaching deep into Misha with the primal force that was programmed into her DNA and that every wolf Were was bound to answer. Misha’s skin shimmered, her white and gray pelt sliding over the surface. Her back arched, her bones morphed, her cry became a howl. Sylvan curled around the shivering young wolf and gently took her damp muzzle in her mouth, telling her she was safe and protected.
Misha sighed and closed her eyes.
Sylvan waited another few moments, feeding Misha her strength, ensuring that she slept peacefully. Then she shifted back to skin and sat on the edge of the bed, softly stroking the beautiful gray and white wolf. The wound on Misha’s shoulder was raw and red, but Sylvan saw no sign of the black poison.
Elena handed Sylvan her jeans. “I may need you again if she tries to shift back too soon.”
“Thanks.” Sylvan stood and pulled on her jeans. Her shirts rarely survived her rapid shifts, the fragments incinerating in the heat of her transition, but she usually managed not to shred her pants if she wanted them again.
“Call me,” Sylvan said. “No matter what I’m doing, I’ll come.”
Elena kissed Sylvan lightly on the mouth. “I know. We all know.”