Baron sat in the back seat of the van, staring out the window as they wound their way along the road to the estate in Scotland. John was curled up next to him, head on his shoulder, fast asleep. Outside the van, rolling hills dotted with sheep drifted past, dense pockets of forest and wide fields of heather giving the scenery a rugged, untamed look.
The estate they were heading to was on the outskirts of the Cairngorm National Park, far enough from the major tourist centres to afford them privacy. It was set in a wide valley, with high hills on all sides that protected it from snooping eyes, and a thick forest that was home to a decent population of wild deer and with a river running along the valley floor. The house was a grand affair, twice the size of the Lakes District manor, with peaked turrets and bay windows, grey stone rising to tall chimneys. There were several cottages off the side, perfect for extra accommodation for those preferring a little peace and quiet away from the main crowd, and inside the manor there was a huge dining room, industrial kitchen and several halls for meetings.
While most of the Den would be staying in the main house, Caroline, Baron, John and Andre had been allocated one of the cottages, a concession to John’s need for privacy and to keep Andre away from the bulk of the shifters. For all their respect for the Council, having an assassin on site tended to make everyone a bit leery, and placing him out of the main house would go a long way towards keeping the peace.
But more than that, Baron had also made the arrangement for the express purpose of assisting Andre in his assessment of Caroline. The need for the utmost discretion made it difficult to manufacture situations of any importance where the two of them would be thrown together, but by getting them to live in adjacent bedrooms for a few weeks, he was confident that Andre would manage to make time for the occasional ‘chat’, discussions on protocol for the Densmeet, or the opportunity to witness Caroline defusing the odd argument between shifters on the estate. He wasn’t sure exactly what the assessment procedure consisted of, or what specific criteria Caroline was being measured against, but it was a long and complicated process, that much was clear.
After a long drive through progressively narrower and more winding roads, the Den’s four vans pulled up at the front of the manor and the shifters piled out, stretching muscles stiff from the long drive. Security was the first issue of the day, with Silas, Baron, Caroline and Tank going on a thorough inspection of the immediate area. As promised, the owner had cleared out, leaving the rooms already made up, the manor clean and tidy and the estate deserted. They paid a hefty price for the privilege of absolute privacy, but it was worth it, high stone walls surrounding the entire estate and prominent signs announcing that this was private property, leaving the shifters free to roam about in wolf form without fear of discovery.
“The food will be arriving around midday,” George informed Baron, when he returned to the front entrance. “I’ll let you know when it’s all clear.” With humans scheduled to be entering the estate, there was a strict ban on shifting until they were gone, and the Den would be anxious to get out and about and start exploring their new territory in wolf form.
“Security’s fine,” Baron announced, holstering his gun after the others had reported back. “Let’s get these vans unloaded.” Along with the bags of personal effects that each shifter had brought, there were also a few crates of weapons – primarily for training purposes, but also a necessary precaution against the unlikely risk that the Noturatii might stumble upon them out here, as well as several of the ancient texts from the Den’s library. Some of the books were still half blank, and would be added to while they were here, an official census of both the Den and the English Grey Watch pack, an annual report from the Council on the progress of Il Trosa as a whole, and a report on the Densmeet itself, including a full list of every shifter in attendance and a record of those fallen, who would be honoured at the Nochtan-Eil.
Everyone set to work immediately, lugging suitcases up long flights of stairs, computers to one of the halls, weapons to another, and a collection of dog beds into the large foyer that also doubled as a living room. There were also four heavy duty vacuum cleaners, necessary for getting all the fur out of the carpet before they left. While the owners were aware that their guests would be bringing ‘a few dogs’ for their summer vacation, there would be little excuse for the sheer volume of wolf fur that would be left lying around, and it was both for politeness, maintaining a good relationship with the owner, and for secrecy, hiding any sign of their presence, that the Den would be conducting a thorough clean up before they left the estate.
The situation in Italy had finally settled down, much to everyone’s relief, so the ban on travel had been lifted just a few days ago, allowing the Italian wolves to join the festivities, and more importantly, it meant that the Councillors themselves would be able to attend the Densmeets, a valuable opportunity to spend face-to-face time with the rest of Il Trosa.
The French shifters would be arriving that afternoon, coming by train from France, with the rest of the guests filtering in over the next few days. A lucky few would be coming by private jet; the Council owned a modest plane that could seat up to thirty people. But using the plane too often could arouse the suspicions of the Noturatii, so many others would be travelling via more conventional methods, small commercial flights or high speed trains, as shifters from dozens of different Dens were shuttled all over Europe to attend their respective meetings.
Inside their cottage, Caroline and Andre chose their bedrooms. Andre disappeared inside, while Caroline simply dumped her bag and headed back outside to oversee the unpacking. No doubt there would be a few squabbles over who got which room in the manor, and it would speed up the process to have someone on hand to keep the peace, and pull rank, if necessary.
Baron and John had a large room with a queen-sized bed, and Baron hefted their two suitcases inside, followed by John, lugging the case of precious books. John kicked the door shut, dumped the box by the wall, and then set about exploring. A small ensuite bathroom, fresh towels laid out. A bay window looking out into a private courtyard. The wardrobe, the bathroom cabinets, the dresser… he even checked under the bed and behind the picture frames, and if Baron hadn’t understood the reason for his paranoia quite so well, he would have found the inspection to be quite amusing.
When he was done, John flopped down onto the bed, wriggling around, arms and legs splayed, then he lay still, a sigh escaping his lips.
“It’s pretty comfortable,” he concluded. “A little too bouncy, but I can live with that. We should try it out. See if it lives up to expectations.” He spread his legs a little, possibly just a concession to comfort… but then he palmed his own groin, and Baron barely glanced at the growing bulge in the boy’s trousers.
“Put your libido back in its box and help me unpack,” he said mildly, knowing it was a waste of time. John didn’t understand unpacking, had no concept of the need to keep clothes neat and tidy. It was a good day when dirty laundry even made it into the hamper, more often just tossed onto the floor, or worse, hidden under the bed. Baron had learned to go on a weekly hunt for it each time he did his own laundry, otherwise it was likely to sit there for weeks until it stank and was on the verge of going mouldy.
“How many people are coming?” John asked, not for the first time, and Baron braced himself for the first wave of the yearly anxiety that came with every Densmeet. It wouldn’t be too bad this year, with the meeting in a familiar space and with John surrounded by his own Den members. Other years were far worse, with the Den split up and John having to cope not just with multiple strangers wandering around, but also with totally new scenery, foreign languages, alien cultures. It was exhausting, Baron having to constantly be aware of his boyfriend’s moods and running interference between him and the other shifters when things got too tense.
“Thirty-four,” Baron told him, shaking out a shirt and sliding it onto a hanger. “Plus our twenty means a total of fifty-four.” He went on to list them all, each of the Dens invited, the number of shifters from each one, the languages they spoke and the ranks of each person. And all the while John lay on the bed, fiddling with the blankets, moving the pillows around, occasionally glancing out the window with a look that was designed to convey indifference, but which failed completely.
Finally, when Baron had finished explaining everything, John got up, stalking silently across the room and catching Baron in a hug, arms wrapped around his waist from behind. Baron stood still, unpacking abandoned for the moment, simply letting John feel his body against him, the regular inhale-exhale of his breaths, the slow thud of his heart.
“You sure you don’t want to come to bed?” John breathed, pressing his groin against Baron’s backside, and the alpha sighed.
“I have work to do,” he apologised. “The French shifters will be arriving this afternoon and I need to check their rooms are set up. Then I have to check on George in the kitchen and discuss a few things with Caroline.”
“Yeah, all work and no play,” John said with a pout, letting him go. “Fine. I’m going outside. To have a look around.”
“No shifting!” Baron called, as the boy vanished out of the room, and then he smiled as the predictable “Fuck you!” came drifting back at him just before the front door slammed. A lack of reply would have been worrying, but in John-speak, the rude exclamation meant ‘I know, and it’s fine’. Baron shook his head, then quietly turned back to the suitcase of clothes in front of him.