Bad Blood (Book 4 of The Warden series) (25 page)

He couldn’t help, but be amused by Danato’s concerns for him as well. He thought perhaps the thrill of the chase would seduce him as easily as Cori thought Leona would. They were both wrong. The last two days had only reassured him that he was in the right place, with the right people, and he couldn’t wait to get back to them.

Headlights blinded him for a moment as a vehicle pulled into the drive of the house he was watching. It was number four returning with pizza and beer. Even as he reached for the phone, it rang.

Just for fun, he let it ring several more times, while he finished his burger. When he finally answered it, he put on his best fake cheerful voice. “You must really like the sound of my voice.”

“Number four is back,” she said ignoring his quip. She paused waiting for him to say something. “That’s what we are waiting for right?”

“Yes, but I thought I would wait for him to get into the house before we approached. How does that sound?”

“Fine, whatever?”

“Don’t get too far ahead me Leona. I’m still the one with my butt on the line here.”

“I just want my son back,” she said brusquely.

Ethan took a mental slap to his forehead. She had to be the most annoying woman in the world to him right now, but she did have a good reason to be petulant. Better than most in fact. “I know. I’ll get him back. I promise. My back up is already in place. If all goes well, you’ll never see these men again, let alone have to lose your son.”

“Good. He’s inside, can we go now?”

“Yeah, let’s go.” He hung up and slipped out of the car. He was in his usual black on black outfit, minus the jacket. It was a warm night outside of the artic ring. He had considered bringing his pistol with him, but bullets were virtually useless on werewolves in their human form. They didn’t have much impact on them in their wolf form either, but at least they made it into the tissue. In their human form, their muscle fibers were so compacted that it was not unheard of for them to be downright impervious to bullets.

The only weapon he did have on him was his speed, agility, and a small trinket that for lack of a better name he called a dog whistle. It was rather insulting he supposed to call it that, but nevertheless, that was essentially, what it was. The tiny cylinder hung from a chain on his neck, beneath his shirt.

He was happy to get out of the car and stretch his legs. It was only a short walk down the street to the house, but the romance of a long stake out had worn off long ago and he was thankful for any movement beyond adjusting the seat of his pants.

Before he slipped behind the house, he saw Leona jump from the roof across the street and land with catlike grace on the concrete. It was always disconcerting to see the human form land from a two-story jump with little more trouble than jumping off a tall fence. Yet another benefit of being a werewolf, joints like gelatin.

He slipped through the backyard, which was little more than a two-seat patio set on burgundy cement tiles. He skipped the backdoor, and went straight for a triangular antenna pole. He climbed up to the second floor window that was reflecting floating stars from a motorized lampshade.

He could see the baby, but he could also see Callin, the father. He was sitting in a rocking chair beside the baby crib, deep in contemplation. For a moment, Ethan wondered if it was right to be stealing a child away from his own father. The only counter he had was that it wasn’t right for him to steal him from his mother in the first place.

The doorbell rang downstairs, but he ignored it. As soon as his lackey came in to let him know who it was, he was off his rocker and out the door. Ethan pulled off the flimsy screen and tossed it away from the house. He pushed the window open and slipped inside.

The nursery was plush with stuffed animals—mostly dogs. It was furnished with several
can’t live without
baby accouterments: crib, changing table, and an antique dresser that was much too big for baby clothes. Callin was at least providing his son with a good home.

He peeked over the railing of the crib and found a little baby boy asleep in the center of the mattress. “Hey there…you.” Ethan made a mental note to ask what the child’s name was when he met back up with Leona.

This was it. All he had to do was grab the baby and slip out the window. Get in the car, and drive as fast and safe as he could to the meeting spot.

He knew it wouldn’t be that easy. His plan had included the not so easy scenario and he would have been disappointed if he didn’t get to use plan B. On the other hand, plan A did sound less painful.

The two sets of meaty hands that grabbed him from behind were far from gentle. They hit him in the face hard, but he didn’t fully pass out. A lesser-advertised side effect to dragon juice was being less susceptible to concussions.

The meatheads dragged him from the child’s room and he let them.
Let
was probably not the right word either. Werewolves were far stronger than humans, so it was arrogant to assume that he had any choice. However, he wasn’t an ordinary human anymore. His strength was worthy of at least a tiresome struggle with a werewolf, but there was no need for arrogance with his plan.

Technically, it was probably Danato’s plan. He wasn’t going to let him go into a wolf pack without the proper backup. Although Leona had bought and paid for his services to get the baby back, that wasn’t why Danato had sent him.

The werewolf underworld or the Council of the Moon as they officially called themselves—despite the mockery they got for the title—did not approve of werewolf packs. For one, packs generally promoted hunting on full moons, which was against the treaty Danato had spoken of, as well as the prison rules when it involved human kills.

The other reason they didn’t like packs, was because it was in direct opposition to their power. The Council was essentially the judge and jury for all werewolf related matters. They were always quick to enforce their rules, and as part of the agreement with them, Danato was responsible for containing any known packs or potential packs. Normally hunters would not be assigned to detain a werewolf pack, but since there was an infant involved, they could hardly endanger the child with their usual method.

Ethan was dropped on the sofa downstairs next to a woman he assumed was Leona. His left eye was starting to blur from the swelling, but he was sure it was her, from her scent. Callin stood in front of them both. Something about how he held himself, reminded Ethan of Vince. He supposed all werewolves held themselves with the same swaggering amused composure.

Callin was about as tall as him. His khaki pleated pants, and thin cashmere olive summer sweater, was the only thing intimidating about him. However, since this wasn’t a business meeting to determine if their assets were mutually engaging, Ethan wasn’t exactly quaking in his boots.

Callin had chocolate brown hair with dense waves and curls that gave him the look of a well-manicured model or a sloppy sleeper depending on what light you saw him in. His heart shaped face, made him look younger than he was. He was growing out his facial hair, probably to appear older, but it looked patchy—an odd problem for a werewolf. Ethan thought he and Leona would have made a cute couple, if werewolves weren’t repellant to each other.

“So, you must be Leona’s new lover?” Callin said with a high English accent not to dissimilar to his own. Callin looked him over without judgment or jealousy. Ethan raised his chin, not wanting to object or confirm that statement until he knew what the man’s opinion on the subject was. “I hope she didn’t convince you that the child she is pregnant with is yours.”

“It’s mine.” One of Callin’s lackeys jumped forward to claim the right before Ethan could answer. He was a short red head with enough facial hair to put Belus to shame, let alone his alpha male leader.

Callin gently pushed him back. “The baby upstairs is mine. The one in her belly is Randal’s, and we shall see who she chooses next.”

“You son of a bitch!” Leona charged him. It took all three lackeys to push her back down, but the effort seemed to exhaust her. “How dare you treat me this way? When I am not pregnant…”

“When you are not pregnant, you will be nursing, and when you are not nursing, you will be mating. You’ll hardly be interested in revenge when you are begging for cock.”

Ethan wanted to defend her out of some inner call to chivalry, but there wasn’t much to defend. The females of the species were stronger, but the many facets of female reproduction countered that fact. The only time Leona would be at full strength, was when she was in heat. Callin was probably already planning to take her second child, and put her in reach of the remaining two men when she came back into estrus. It was no wonder that the prison never housed female werewolves. They were rarely a risk.

“I want my son back. You have no right to raise him.”

“I always found that to be a strange edict for our people. Why would a father not be allowed to raise his own son?”

“Because you might eat him,” Ethan said flatly.

Callin must not have liked the statement because he stared Ethan down like he was debating how best to kill him. “I would never hurt my son.”

“I believe you,” Ethan said even though he really had no opinion on the subject. “I can see the control in you that Randal here missed out on. I can see how much of an effort you’ve made to care for your son. But…you asked why the Council doesn’t let werewolf men raise their young, and the answer is infanticide. It’s rare in modern days with the availability of food, but the Council is still concerned that the primal instinct to remove competition will cause an epidemic of child deaths. Not to mention that the female is supposed to nurse for the first year, so after that, shared custody would be the only thing she would allow, and frankly I just don’t see a male and female werewolf coming up with an applicable custody agreement.”

Callin’s face had become increasingly cold as Ethan spoke. “You’re not her lover.”

Ethan couldn’t hide his smile. “No. I’ve been assigned to return the child to his rightful parent.”

“You’re a hunter?”

“Close enough,” Ethan said not wanting to get into titles.

“And you think that I should be denied the right to raise my son because of a hundred-year-old edict that doesn’t take into consideration modern conveniences?”

Ethan hissed and frowned. “I’m not going to begin to tell you that, but it is within my jurisdiction to take the child…and I will.”

Randal and the others chuckled. Callin smiled. “I respect your tenacity, but how did you plan on accomplishing that?”

Ethan cleared his throat. “I’m hoping to avoid any violence here.”

“Are you?” Callin crossed his arms. Ethan could see the smirk just on the edge of his mouth.

“I’m not opposed to it personally, but I have to protect Leona.”

“Oh, don’t worry about her. She can still kick my ass pregnant.” Ethan caught a look between them that almost looked like respect. “She nearly ripped my head off when I took Lynnius.”

“I’m surprised she failed.” Ethan watched Leona sizing up Callin.

“I was as surprised as you.” Callin was locked on to her, as much as she was him. They were either on the verge of attacking each other, or…
attacking
each other. “I think it might have been a small gesture on her part. A kindness not often extended to werewolves of the opposite sex.”
Ethan looked between them. The tension was as much violent as it was sexual, but he was pretty sure that might have been normal for werewolves. “Kindness is a weakness,” Leona said jutting out her jaw.

“It’s not a weakness when you are kind to our son. Why would it be a weakness when you are kind to me?”

Leona’s face fell from the copulatory gaze. “Let me see my son,” she said changing the subject. Callin didn’t say anything, but he shook his head slowly. “I will not offer you any more leniencies.”

“And I will not offer you a home here after tonight,” Callin retorted. She promptly spit on his feet, which were covered in the finest leather. His other two lackeys, which Ethan now noticed were twins, used all of their strength to press her shoulders back into the couch.

“Home?” Ethan asked to interrupt any further escalation. “What home?”

The twins eyed him behind long floppy auburn hair. It fell in their faces the way his used to before he discovered that vision was useful. They were not nearly as young as the other two, and, in fact, if Ethan had to guess, they were probably already into old age for a werewolves.

Most male werewolves didn’t make it past thirty. The few that did, were considered to be elderly, and as such were usually well respected. In truth, it was more like pity. Werewolves tended to die early because they lived with reckless abandonment for their health and safety. It wasn’t always viewed as a feat to make it over the age of thirty. It just meant you were a coward.

“I have requested that Leona live here and help raise our son.” Callin bestowed his explanation on Ethan as he put his foot up on the couch to lean over Leona. He looked like he wanted to touch her, but the sneer on her face would have kept any man distant. Ethan was surprised he had even made the effort to get closer to begin with. The twins looked like they were straining even harder to hold her down.

“With your pack?” Ethan asked glancing at Randal who had apparently been staring him down the whole time, but he hadn’t noticed until now.

“As part of my pack.”

“As your harem!” She lunged forward and bit his forearm before the twins could get her back. Callin gritted his teeth and gave an inhuman snarl as he clutched the bleeding wound.

“Hardly,” he said with evenness forced into his voice. He lifted his hand to check the wound. It looked deep to Ethan, but he was hardly bleeding. “We would be your harem, you twit.”

“That’s new.” Ethan put his elbow over the back of the couch to get more comfortable for the revealing soap opera. Callin looked him over. Ethan shrugged. “My research never discussed pack lifestyle. How exactly would that work?”

Callin moved away from Leona and pulled a chair up to sit in front of Ethan. Randal swung around the couch behind him. Ethan made a note of his position from the corner of his eye and leaned in toward Callin to make him flinch in defense of his alpha. Callin held up his hand to prevent him from attacking. Ethan was pleased to see that Randal was good boy.

A good, good boy.

“Werewolf history has been skewed by movies and books,” Callin began. Ethan was pleased that he was so forthcoming and talkative, but part of him wondered if this was a trap. Was Callin mesmerizing him the way Leona did to Cori? One thing was for sure, there would be no hypnotic kisses.

“The vague verbal history we have of our ancestors is of a matriarchal society of werewolves. They were nomadic peoples that interacted with humans through their travels, but always returned to the safety of forests, mountains, and desserts during the full moon.

“Our ancestors believed that the change was a spiritual journey. They believed that during the change we were able to communicate with God. It was a blessing.

“Over the years as man took away more of the barren lands, we became hunters of man out of a misfortunate convenience of overcrowding. We in return were hunted and killed into near extinction. I don’t blame humans for this. If I were human and saw an eight foot bipedal wolf I think I would kill it to protect my family.” Ethan smiled at his slight levity.

“The Council of the Moon,” Callin continued, “was established in the mid-1800s as a way of finding unpopulated grounds where my people could roam and hunt during their change. The systematic distribution of werewolves took the spirituality from the change. They assigned locations to us that held absolutely no meaning to us, and often had little sizeable prey.”

Callin took in a deep breath and glanced at Leona before continuing. “There was a time during this period, when offspring were eaten by werewolves. The Council didn’t take into account the distance that a werewolf might travel during the change if proper prey wasn’t available. I’m sure you are well aware how little control we have in our animal state.”

“If by little you mean absolutely none,” Ethan said.

“Yes,” Callin said looking back at Leona. He watched her for a moment and she lost the glare on her face. She leaned back into the couch and allowed the twins a break from their efforts. “Before the Council changed the rules, and stripped the male rights away in punishment for their own stupidity, females were queens of packs. A strong female werewolf such as Leona would bear the children of her subjects. Much like in patriarchal animal groups the female children would stay with the pack until they were old enough to form their own, or when the time came a daughter might challenge her mother and displace her from the position. The displaced queen would be allowed to stay in the pack if she remained submissive to the new queen.

“Leona doesn’t like the idea of being the queen of my pack because she thinks that I’m asking her to be a breeder for us.”

“You are,” she said pointing to her full belly.

“What she doesn’t understand is that we would be her loyal subjects? We would serve her, provide for her, and obey her every command.”

“I thought male and female werewolves couldn’t stand each other?” Ethan questioned.

“One-on-one it becomes a competition for leadership. A pack must have a male leader to keep the peace so to speak. That male chooses his queen.”

“But you are still asking her give birth to all of your children.”

“Despite what Leona tells you, she still chooses who she wants to breed with. That decision is based on proof of strength and fitness just like it would be for a human female. She would not breed with a sickly werewolf. As far as the harem comment,” Callin arched a brow to Leona. “She also decides what recreational activities she wants to have and with whom. I imagine that a queen werewolf might have a variety lovers, human and werewolf, but in essence we would be her harem, if she wished it.”