Sean watched the vans pull up out the front of the Manor, prepared for a grim greeting. Baron had called him a few hours ago with news of the attack in Scotland, and he’d promptly packed his bags and prepared to leave, knowing they wouldn’t want him sticking around once they arrived.
After the visit from the Noturatii several weeks ago, three mysterious visitors had shown up, two men and a woman who had introduced themselves by showing him that peculiar symbol on their hands that Baron had told him about. Since then, they’d been ghosting around the estate, checking security, guarding the perimeter, but thankfully there had been no further intrusions from the Noturatii, and the three of them were packed and ready to leave as soon as the shifters returned. He’d been given no real explanation on the visitors other than that they were some sort of security force, and while they’d all been perfectly polite during their stay, he found them to be rather intimidating, and he was just as glad to be away from them.
He was right about the grim mood, Sean acknowledged, when Baron got out of the van. A scowl was fixed to the man’s face, and he simply muttered a gruff ‘thank you’ when he saw Sean, handed him an envelope full of cash, and watched as he climbed into his car and drove away. They would be in contact again, when they next required his services, but until then, as far as Sean was concerned, the shifters didn’t exist. He’d never met them, knew nothing of the existence of otherworldly beings right under humanity’s nose, and would give his wife an enthusiastic report about his ‘fishing holiday’ when he got back home. Nothing to see here, folks. Just move along.
Caleb paced the library, surprised that Caroline had called him in for a chat. Baron was busy, organising the grieving Den, planning how the hell they were going to dispose of so many bodies, and he’d rather expected Caroline to have been at his side, juggling the thousand small tasks that were going to keep them both snowed under for days to come. For all that they butted heads at every opportunity, when the shit hit the fan, the pair of them worked together like a well oiled machine. They were both a credit to their Den, and he knew that the rest of the shifters couldn’t have been prouder of their work, the way they held everyone together and overcame the seemingly insurmountable odds that were constantly stacked against them.
So while he knew that Caroline cared deeply about her pack, she rarely showed it in words of sympathy or compassion, preferring to let her actions speak more clearly about her intentions.
“Let’s talk about the hiker,” she’d said bluntly when Caleb had arrived in the library, and he’d stared at her in surprise. “Thoughts? Feelings? Regrets?” she’d probed with an air of caution, and Caleb had realised that he was being far more transparent about his feelings surrounding the incident than he’d realised. But putting those feelings into words was difficult, pride and guilt and remorse eating away at him.
He should be above this, he scolded himself, as Caroline watched him pace. Baron and Caroline dealt with far worse crises on a regular basis.
“What was I supposed to do?” he asked finally, a harsh edge to his voice. “She was standing in the middle of the forest, watching you all shift and shoot each other. She was a security risk that could have brought down our entire species.”
“What do you think you should have done?” she asked calmly, watching him carefully to see how he reacted.
“I don’t know. Taken her prisoner? But then what? She still knew secrets she wasn’t supposed to know.”
“I’m not trying to interrogate you,” Caroline interrupted, sounding far gentler than he had expected. “This isn’t a trial for a crime. It’s just a discussion about how you’re dealing with what happened.”
“I’m fine,” he snapped, not liking the fact that his doubts and guilt were so exposed.
“That’s what Tank said when he got back from the Noturatii lab,” Caroline pointed out. “And everyone could see, clear as day, that it wasn’t true.”
Tank. Fuck. A higher ranking wolf than Caleb, and he’d fallen to pieces for a while there. Caleb still wasn’t sure of all the details involved, either what he’d been through inside the lab, or what had finally led to him being able to deal with it, but Caroline had a point, he admitted to himself reluctantly. If Tank had moments that were hard to deal with, then was it such a bad thing that Caleb found himself in the same situation?
“So in hindsight,” Caroline asked, repeating her previous question, “given the time and space to think about it clearly, what would you like to have done differently?”
Caleb thought about that, recalled the shock of finding the woman there, the fear that his pack was being slaughtered at that very moment, the knowledge that she couldn’t be allowed to just walk away. “Nothing,” he said finally, sinking into a chair. “I hate what happened. I hate this whole fucking war, and the people who die fighting it, and the people who die without even knowing why. But… given the situation over again, I would have done the same thing. Or maybe even just shot her myself. When I confronted her, I guess I was hoping that I could capture her, take her to you or Baron and let you decide what should be done. But that would be horribly selfish in the end, wouldn’t it? I couldn’t decide what to do on my own, so I cover your hands with her blood, instead of my own.”
Caroline nodded, a slow, thoughtful gesture that showed she understood. “Sometimes we have to make terrible decisions,” she said softly. “And hating those decisions doesn’t mean that we don’t have to make them. And knowing that we have to make them, that there is no other choice, doesn’t mean we can’t hate what we had to do.”
It was a strange relief to hear it so simply put. In a nutshell, she was saying that he did the right thing, but he was still allowed to feel like a complete and utter bastard for having done it. Sometimes there wasn’t just one right way to feel about things like this.
“I have work to do,” Caroline said apologetically, standing up and heading for the door. “But have a think about it. And if you want to talk again, I’m always here to listen.”
It was a strange side to Caroline that he didn’t see very often. But he knew that her concern was real, even if bluntly expressed, and he nodded.
“Okay. And thank you. I’ll keep it in mind.”
Caroline nodded, then left the room, leaving Caleb alone with his thoughts.
“He feels guilty as hell, but also recognises that it was the right decision,” Caroline reported to Andre later that night. He’d been keen to assess how Caleb was reacting to the hiker’s death – though he hadn’t actually killed her, the man had certainly been instrumental in the event – but Andre had been unable to question Caleb himself. Not only would it have been rather inappropriate, but it would also have yielded very little useful information, with Caleb far less likely to open up to him than to one of his own Den mates.
The problem now was that, having been invited into Andre’s room and given him her report, Caroline was strongly suspecting that Andre was having the same conflict of conscience as Caleb. Usually when she spoke to him he was polite, attentive, considering her opinions with a calm patience that she’d come to treasure during her time in Italy. Now, he was sounding almost impatient, avoiding her gaze, focused on the screen of his laptop as he typed rapidly, though she couldn’t see what he was writing.
But what the hell was she supposed to do when a highly trained assassin was having a crisis of conscience? She could hardly do what she’d done for Caleb and give him a heartfelt debrief. He was the one who was supposed to be entirely reasonable and in control, the one who helped other people solve their moral dilemmas, rather than suffering from those dilemmas himself.
“Thank you,” Andre told her, still making notes on his laptop. “I appreciate your help.”
“How much longer is this assessment going to go on?” she asked, leaning against the door frame. Perhaps it was an impertinent question, but she was fishing for ways to continue the conversation, to try and tease out a little more of how Andre was feeling, and since small talk had never been her strong suit, she was left with direct questions on issues of significant importance.
“A few days at most,” Andre replied. “For one thing, I need to return to Italy with Eleanor when she leaves. With the ban on travel lifted, I have little more excuse to stay here without arousing suspicions.” The announcement came with so little warning that it left Caroline feeling rather dismayed. After so many weeks, she’d got rather used to having Andre around. Though, in all that time, they’d still never managed to have a real conversation, a chat just about themselves rather than business around the Den. Neither of them had referred in the slightest way to their past in Italy. “But aside from that, my assessment is basically complete. I’m going to speak to Eleanor tomorrow and tell her that I wholeheartedly recommend Caleb for service to the Council.”
It was said in such a deadpan voice that it took a moment for the words to sink in. “You’re recommending him?” she repeated, not sure why she was surprised at the news. Caleb was a most capable shifter, an excellent fighter, providing a calm and soothing presence at the top end of the ranking, between Tank, who was often more playful mischief maker than 2IC, and Silas, who could strip paint off walls with his glare alone.
“Absolutely,” Andre said, glancing up at her. “He’s calm under pressure, he excels at strategic planning and he thinks outside the square. That’s exactly the sort of man we need.”
“I’m thrilled to hear it. Caleb will be delighted.”
“It’s not all done and dusted yet,” Andre said, and Caroline caught a hint of weariness in his voice, a tone she’d never heard from him before. “All I can do is make my recommendation to the Council. The final decision still lies with them. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he added, turning back to his computer, “I have a few things I need to finish up here.”
It was a dismissal, and not even a particularly polite one. It was far enough from his usual manner that it made Caroline pause, rather than simply leaving him in peace, as she would normally do.
But what could she really say about it? Andre seemed tired and stressed, so clearly the world was caving in? Since coming here, he’d been dealing with one drama after another, first with Dee, then the Noturatii lab, then spending all his time trying to find subtle ways to assess Caleb without arousing suspicion. The life of an assassin was tough. It was no wonder he might get a little worn out at times.
But the nagging feeling that something more serious was going on wouldn’t go away. It was years since she’d been with him in Italy, years that had hardened and refined him, so that the man sitting in front of her now was a far cry from the young assassin-in-training who had sat and talked with her for hours over coffee and sunsets, the one who had taken her soul apart and put it back together again, and who had made her fall hopelessly in love with him.
But then again, she was no longer the lost, lonely girl she had been then. And so she dared to do something that broke all protocols when dealing with an assassin. She waited until he looked up at her, impatience on his face, and said, “We never talk about Italy.” A momentary confusion crossed his face, so she pressed on, before he could dismiss her again. “You’ve been here for weeks. You’ve seen our Den inside and out, you’ve worked and played and fought with us. But we never talk about anything other than business, how best to run the Den, how to deal with the Noturatii. Why don’t we ever talk about the past like old friends?”
Andre looked down, seeming more tired than angry about her sudden interrogation. “We were never friends, Caroline. You were my student. I was your psychologist. That relationship required a certain professional distance.”
“That was fifteen years ago. We’re both adults now. The world is vastly different from the way it was then.”
“I’m an assassin,” Andre continued to protest, irritation colouring his voice. “I travel constantly. I kill people for a living. I exist in the shadows of society – human and shifter – and that kind of life is not at all conducive to making friends.”
“You’re friends with Heron,” Caroline said stubbornly, wondering why she was pushing this so hard. He didn’t care for her the same way she did for him, that much was obvious. She could just leave it at that… but for the past fifteen years, she’d lived with the nagging feeling that there was a gap in her life, a missed opportunity that just wouldn’t go away. And if she didn’t find a way to resolve that tension now, she would likely never get another chance. Andre would be leaving, and she would probably never see him again. “You’ve had great long chats with her about the Den, about your childhood, about the things you’ve been doing for the past fifteen years.”
“I grew up with Heron!” Andre said in exasperation. “She was like a second mother to me.”
“And that’s my point. Okay, so you grew up with her, but you still manage to maintain some kind of relationship with her, despite your lifestyle, despite not seeing her in years.”
“What the hell do you want from me?”
“For you to see me as an equal. Not the fragile girl who was scared of her own imagination. I’m an alpha now. I run this Den. Baron and I have held back the tide of the Noturatii for years together. We recruit new shifters. We make choices that risk other people’s lives – that cost them their lives, on occasion. In the nicest possible way, Andre… I don’t need you any more. So why can’t we move past this professional distance you insist upon?”
Andre struggled to find an answer to Caroline’s insistent questioning. This was one of the things he had always admired about her, her persistence, her tenacity in reaching for something she wanted to achieve. But right now, that same persistence was driving him insane.
There were two very good reasons for the need for distance between them, neither of which Andre could admit to. The first was that he was currently assessing her for a position on the Council, and for that, he needed to remain objective. He was supposed to assess her on her skills as an alpha, her intelligence, her prowess in battle, not let his opinion of her be coloured by personal bias. But of course, there was no way he could tell her that. The rules for his current job were that potential Council candidates were never, ever aware of the fact that they were being assessed until the Council had made a decision. On the one hand, once someone knew they were in the running for the role, they were instantly on their best behaviour, more careful in their decisions, more diplomatic in their relationships, and in order to know who a person really was, how they reacted in normal, day to day situations, it was imperative that they continue to behave as they normally would.
The other issue was a more tactful reason. If a person knew they were being assessed, and they didn’t make the final cut, it could breed resentment that was counterproductive to the smooth running of Il Trosa and the expectation of loyalty to the Council.
And then there was the second reason, even more complicated than the first, one which he was fairly sure he’d managed to hide from even the Council, since if they’d known, they’d never have given him this assignment. The truth was that, even after all these years apart, the assignments he’d completed, even the women he’d slept with from time to time… he was still hopelessly in love with Caroline.
And that was never, ever going to fit in with the life of an assassin, constantly moving from place to place, constantly in danger, never knowing if this mission was going to be his last, if he would finally meet an enemy who would succeed in killing him. No one could live with that kind of uncertainty for long, the knowledge that their partner, their lover might leave on an assignment and never come home.
He opened his mouth to reply, scrambling for something that would sound reasonable enough to Caroline for her to leave this issue alone. But what came out of his mouth was nothing at all like what he’d been intending to say.
“I killed a girl,” he said, blindsided as the guilt and regret and grief leapt out of him like a living thing. “I shot an innocent woman, who did nothing more than accidentally get lost.”
Caroline closed her eyes. He thought for a moment that she was going to reach out and take his hand, and he prayed that she didn’t, knowing that it would break the last threads of control he had on his surging emotions. But she didn’t move, just stood there, arms folded like a shield in front of her, abject sorrow on her face.
“There was no other option,” she said softly, a mantra that Andre had told himself a thousand times. “It’s a tragedy, I know, but the sad truth is that that is the price of our own survival.”
But Andre shook his head, knowing she had missed the point. “It’s not that I killed her,” he tried to explain, forcing the words past the lump in his throat. “Anyone could have shot her. You. Baron. Nikolai. And you’d have hated doing it, and hated yourself for it, and mourned the loss of an innocent life even before you did it. But I didn’t. I didn’t regret what I was doing. I didn’t hesitate. I just looked her in the eye and pulled the trigger. And I didn’t feel a thing.” He looked at her pleadingly, eyes searching hers for the answer to unanswerable questions. “What have I become?”
Andre waited, heart in his throat, as Caroline lowered herself to one knee in front of him, elbow resting on the desk, putting her almost at eye level with him. He waited for a lecture – the most gentle, most well meaning of lectures – about the price of being an assassin, of protecting their species, of the emotional distance that was required for the life he had chosen. Because he had chosen it, Andre reminded himself. He could have picked a different option, become a historian, perhaps, and worked to further the interests of their species in an entirely less violent way. He had chosen to give up his soul to death and killing, and now he was reaping the rewards of that choice-
“A wise man once told me,” Caroline said, her voice barely more than a whisper, “that if you don’t like who you are, then you are the only person with the power to change that.”
It was such a simple statement. And yet the moment she said it, a whole barrage of ideas and questions and doubts suddenly crystallised in Andre’s mind. The answer was right there, hidden in plain sight, just waiting for him to discover it.
The moment of clarity was so profound that it blocked out all other rational thought. Without waiting another moment, Andre leaned forward, giving in to years of pent up frustration and longing, abandoning the control that had ruled his life for as long as he could remember. He cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her.