Winter’s Wolf (14 page)

Junior nudged Winter. “Hey, man, how’s it going here in civilization?”

“Pretty good. How about you?”
Powers, that smell.
Why did he remember it?

“Hanging in there. You been doin’ any more work for the marshal?”

“Some. Still, I may need to find another job.”

“Me and Mario got a few things going. Maybe you can help out?”

“Possibly.”

“Beats fast food.” He laughed.

Inside the ranges, the noise hurt his ears. George handed out earmuffs, and Winter put his on quickly. Even with them in place, he still probably heard sound better than anyone else without the protection. George took him, Mario, and Junior to a table where he placed their weapons in front of them, including ammunition with .40 caliber for Winter’s 22. Junior grabbed some rounds and started shoving them into the magazine. Winter removed the magazine, checked the chamber, then methodically loaded the weapon, and still finished before Junior or Mario. George nodded and led Winter to a range with a human-shaped target at the end. Handing Winter goggles, he indicated he should fire when ready.

Winter slid on the goggles, moved the gun back and forth between his hands to get accustomed to its feel loaded, then nodded at George. He felt Freedman and Betz step up behind him. What the hell was this test about? George glanced at a large clock on the wall and hit a timer. He nodded. Winter raised the weapon, inhaled, and squeezed off six rounds into the center of the target. Five penetrated the same spot, while the sixth created a ragged edge to the hole.

George looked stunned but hit the button that brought the target forward.
Oh right, they can’t see it as well as I can.
When the target slid front and center, Winter grimaced. “Sorry. It’s been a while since I used a weapon.”

Betz said, “Sorry?”

Winter pointed to the sixth shot. “I blew this one.”

Freedman laughed, and it wasn’t one of his phony ha-ha’s. “Let’s see how you do with a rifle.”

“Oh yeah, I’m usually better with a rifle, since handguns aren’t used for hunting much. Of course, I mostly hunt in an—uh, you know, without weapons.” He glanced around, but no humans occupied any of the lanes.

They started walking toward the outside, and he saw that Junior and Mario had both done a reasonably good job on their targets. About four out of six had hit the bull’s-eye or the next outer ring. Better than he would have expected from the slapstick duo.

Betz held the door for him. “Where did you learn to shoot?”

“My father taught me.”

“He must be damned good.”

“Yes. At least as good as I am. Where we lived in Canada, people learned to hunt early in life, so it’s just what we did. Sometimes it was easier to use a weapon than to shift if there were humans around.”

“How are you settling into the pack?”

He shrugged. “I haven’t had much contact with pack members so far.”

“Your uncle?”

“Uncle? Oh, you mean Marketo. My father’s met with him a couple times, but I haven’t seen much of him.”

“What’s your impression of him?”

Winter glanced at Betz, who reeked of subtext. What did he really want to know?

“He seems like a good enough leader. I gather the alliance he made kept the pack out of a heap of shit.”

They got to an open standing range and Betz stopped. He snorted. “That sounds like some good Marketo PR to me. Fact is, the pack wouldn’t have been attacked at all if we hadn’t entered that fucking alliance. All that gangster wanted was Marketo’s fag son. Could have had him as far as I’m concerned. A lot of others agree.”

Aha. Subtext revealed.
George walked up with a standard M14 sniper rifle. Winter checked the weapon and loaded it.

Betz said, “Don’t you agree, George? No way our pack should have gotten mixed up in that war or that fucking fag alliance.”

“Shit. Got that right. Bunch of mincing fairies acting like we should be grateful to them. It’s disgusting. The old ways were the good ways.”

“We just need enough support and someone strong enough to bring the old ways back.”

“Hell, yeah. You should be looking right in the mirror there, Fred.”

He held up a hand. “I’d never presume.”

Bull’s-eye. So that’s the story. Dissension in the ranks and a coup leader being groomed.
Bunch of fag-hating werewolf assholes.
Winter raised the rifle, set the sights, and popped out a half dozen rounds, hitting the center of six individual targets. Every one had Betz’s face.

When he lowered the weapon, Betz clapped his shoulder. “What we need is the powerful support of the next generation.”

Winter squeezed off a smile.
Son of a bitch.
He felt like a giant puzzle lay at his feet. Several large pieces slipped into place.

Freedman came up behind him. “Come on.”

He followed Freedman and Betz into the stand of trees behind the rifle range. The marshal walked deeper into the forest. No view of the sky through the dense canopy. Freedman stopped and turned to Winter. “Strip and shift.”

“What?”

“You said you can do it. We want to see.”

“Why?”

Freedman got that lying smile. “You’ll be a lot more useful officer of the law if you can really shift on command.”

“I doubt that’s in the marshal’s handbook.”

Freedman laughed.
Ha-ha.
“Let’s just say it’s in my marshal’s handbook.”

Was he going to do this? He had no excuse to question the marshal unless he wanted to reveal his own opinions and probably out himself at the same time. That might guarantee an instant hunting accident with him as the target. Maybe too soon to come clean.
Play this out. It could be interesting.
He pulled off his T-shirt, toed off his sneakers, and pulled the jeans down over his bare hips.

Betz’s eyes bugged. “Shit, kid, warn a man when you’re bare-assed.”

Freedman chuckled. “No wonder he’s such a good shot. This kid is packing a dangerous weapon.”

Winter dropped the jeans on the ground, opened his mind to the universe, accepted the acid fire of shift energy and—wolf. Huge, white. He stalked to the edge of the clearing and looked back.
Males. Fear. Good.

“Holy freaking shit.”

“Winter, can you shift back?”
Big male smile. Do what he say?

Heat, fire, wolf—wolf—male—Winter.

Winter shook himself and inhaled to confirm his human condition. “Satisfied?”

Betz hyperventilated. “Shit, man, that’s amazing. I never saw anything like it except, except—”

Freedman smiled slowly. “Except Cole Harker, alphanta of the Harker pack.”

Betz scowled. “I guess that pussycat fag of Marketo’s might be able to do it too, but who the fuck cares about a panther?”

A flash of annoyance played over Freedman’s face, but he controlled it. The marshal had twice the brains of Betz. Who had the power? Freedman shook his head. “Anyone who underestimates that cat won’t live to tell about it. Remember that and don’t make that mistake.”

Winter fastened his jeans and pulled the T-shirt on, then leaned over to slip on his shoes. “Why do you care who can shift at will?”

Betz opened his mouth, but Freedman interrupted. “It’s just good to know where your strengths lie. It’s a dangerous world.”

Betz nodded with narrowed eyes. “Yeah, it’s a fucking dangerous world.”

C
URIOUSER
AND
curiouser. Clearly he’d gone down the rabbit hole and the Mad Hatter would make an appearance soon. Winter waved to Freedman as he climbed into his truck—uh, make that Freedman’s truck—and left the marshal’s parking lot. He, Freedman, and Betz had emerged from the woods with Betz staring at Winter like maybe he was the Holy Grail. Betz had this maniacal gleam in his eye, but Freedman squashed him every time Betz tried to say something to Winter. Why? What would he have said?

At the stop sign at the edge of town, Winter paused. Where to? His whole life suddenly became one giant question mark. What were Freedman and Betz planning? To rephrase, what were Freedman and Betz planning that included Winter? Beyond that he didn’t much give a shit. He maintained loyalty to himself and his father. No one else had earned it yet, so he’d watch how this chess game played out before he took sides.

But in this whole confusing mess, most of all, he wanted to know what gave with Matthew Partridge. Did all human males act that way?

A horn blast behind him got him off the dime, and he hit the accelerator. Who could he talk to? Everyone around him had an agenda, including his own father.

Wait.

He pulled the phone from his pocket and stared at it.
Better not use it.
But there was a pay phone outside the Way Station. He pressed the accelerator.
How the hell do you call information these days?

S
WEET
CRAP
,
what a house. Did people really live like this? Winter parked the truck to the side of the circular drive and slid out, still staring up at the three-story, ivy-covered mansion. When he’d finally gotten through the layers of assistants to assistants at Vanessen Enterprises by telling everyone his name and that he was a “friend” of Lindsey Vanessen, he’d made it to the Queen of Wolves himself. Clearly Vanessen had been willing to talk to him, or no chance in hell he would have gotten through, so grateful he was, as Yoda would say. Still, the guy had been very suspicious. Winter told him he was trying to get the lay of the land and really needed someone’s help. Finally Lindsey said he was working at home and to come over. Shit, Winter had no idea.

He rang the bell and a short, smiling man in a white jacket and bow tie answered.

“Uh, hi. I’m Winter Thane. I—”

“Oh yes, Mr. Thane, Mr. Vanessen is expecting you. Please come in.”

He followed the man into an entry full of sunlight and art. Really beautiful abstract paintings climbed the walls, while a vase of exotic flowers on a round table in the center of the room picked up the colors. So different from the formidable exterior.

The guy led him into another area like a receiving room of sorts, with couches and tables and more flowers and art. At the center of the room, a huge staircase rose up what appeared to be two flights.

“Please wait here, sir. I’ll tell—”

“It’s okay, James. I’m here.” Winter looked up as Lindsey Vanessen swept down the staircase wearing what had to be a silk smoking jacket. Winter had never seen one outside a black-and-white movie. Graceful, pale hair flowing behind him like a curtain, Lindsey defined beauty and fashion—of some kind.

Winter grinned. “You must have had that staircase designed just so you can make an entrance.”

James laughed.

Lindsey plopped a hand on his hip. “I’ll have you both know that the staircase was designed in the nineteenth century—but no one has put it to better use than moi.” He extended a hand. It looked as if Winter was supposed to kiss it, but he shook it anyway.
Wow.
This guy was one sneaky son of a wolf. Far more powerful than he let on. “Thank you, James. I’ll take Mr. Thane from here. Follow me, darling.”

He turned and ascended the stairs. Yes, other people might walk, but Lindsey
ascended
, hips swaying and arms waving. On the next level up, he walked down a hall and into a room with an open door. Winter followed and found a study just as bright as the rooms downstairs, thanks to the floor-to-ceiling windows, with a wide, very modern desk, but comfortable couches and guest chairs in soft grays with brilliant splashes of pink and yellow floral.

Lindsey turned, but the gay cavalier who’d greeted him had vanished in favor of a suspicious and formidable wolf. “Please take a seat.”

“Thanks.” Winter perched on one of the couches, which was just as comfortable as it looked.

“What can I offer you? Wine, beer, soft drinks?”

“Beer would be great.”

Lindsey strode through a door to the side, and Winter heard a refrigerator door open, caps pop, and glasses rattle. He returned with a glass of beer and one of white wine. He handed the beer to Winter and sat opposite him in a chair. “Why are you here?”

The boy did not mess around. “I don’t know how you feel about my father coming back here, but I knew shit about it, so you’ve got no beef with me. I was living a perfectly happy life”—that was kind of true—“when my father announces that we have to return to the glorious pack. I didn’t really know why until we got here and I find myself with a whole flaming family and a bunch of people who want stuff from me and a father I thought I could trust who turns out to be a fucking liar. I’ve got nobody to talk to and I suddenly realize hey, fuck, I have a brother.” He shrugged.

Lindsey leaned back and sipped his wine. “That, my dear, is quite a rant.”

“Yeah, well, it’s true.”

He tapped his manicured fingertips on the arm of the chair. “Why would the likes of you come to the likes of me for advice, I wonder?” Those intelligent, piercing blue eyes gazed at Winter through long, enhanced lashes.