Frostbitten (16 page)

“Is that an order?”

He seemed to flinch at my tone, then squared his shoulders. “I know I can’t hold territory, but as a favor to an old Pack brother, I’d like Clay to respect my wishes and leave Alaska.”

“How about you tell him that?”

A definite flinch that time. He turned to go.

“And what about the other werewolves in Anchorage?” I called after him. “Are they supposed to respect your wishes, too? I don’t think they’re going to leave that easily.”

A slow pivot. “What other werewolves?”

“Three mutts. We found their tracks near the latest wolf kill. They also attacked a young werewolf yesterday, about two blocks from here. So in the past twenty-four hours, you’ve had six werewolves trespass on your territory, and you never even noticed?”

“I must have missed them on my daily border patrols.” He shifted the coffee tray to one hand. “You don’t get it, do you? No, I didn’t notice them, because I don’t care. I don’t want to live my life like that—constantly on alert, constantly watching, working out so I can meet the next challenger, knowing there’s always going to be one right around the corner. That’s exactly what I came to Alaska to escape.”

“Which would be just fine, if you could convince other were wolves to respect your wishes. Live and let live is not the werewolf motto, no matter how hard you and I might wish otherwise.”

He looked at me then. Really looked at me for the first time since I’d approached him.

“This isn’t my world either,” I said. “I was born human. Raised human. I like being a werewolf—I won’t lie about that—but there are parts of it that I really
don’t
like. I’ve spent two days chasing a twenty-year-old kid about to be framed and killed by a couple of mutts for man-eating. I follow him to Anchorage and what happens? Completely different mutts find him first and cut off two of his fingers. He didn’t challenge them. He even said he wasn’t sticking around. But they wanted him gone
now
. That’s the world we live in. These mutts are going to find you and when they do, you won’t be able to ask them nicely to leave you alone. They already kil—” I stopped short. “Clay needs to talk to you.”

The shields fell again. “No.”

“It’s about your father.”

Joey scowled. “Oh, hell. Let me guess. Dad whined to Jeremy about me, and sent Clay to have a little talk. My old buddy to set me straight.”

“No, your father didn’t say a word to Jeremy. But I did talk to your dad’s landlord yesterday. I take it you two had a falling out?”

“No, we just… We drifted apart.”

From what the landlord said, it sounded like Joey had done the drifting. Further separating him from everything werewolf in his life, including his father.

“Look, about the mutts?” Joey continued. “Tell Clay I appreciate the warning. If you’re having trouble tracking down my dad, I’ll do it and I’ll pass on the message. But Clay doesn’t need to worry about me. I’m not a werewolf anymore—not like you two are, not like my father is. I’m a regular guy struggling with a disability that makes me disappear into the shed twice a month and change into a wolf. I don’t run in Anchorage. I don’t run in the forest. I don’t even hike outside the city. These guys aren’t likely to cross my path and if they do, I’ll go the other way. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

He started walking away.

“Joey.”

He stopped, shoulders tightening. “It’s Joseph.”

“I’m sorry.” I walked up behind him. “Joseph. About your father. I really wanted Clay to tell you, but we went to his cabin last night. We found him.” I paused. “He’s dead.”

His head slumped forward. I stayed where I was, behind him, respectfully out of sight.

“Was it them?” he asked, turning toward me. “Those werewolves?”

I nodded.

His gaze moved to mine. “And you wonder why I don’t want anything to do with this life? Because this is where it gets you. No matter how nice you are. No matter how hard you work to avoid trouble. This is your end. Murdered by mutts. Buried in the woods.” He paused, glancing away. “I take it that’s what you did. Pack protocol and all.” The words carried a bitter twist.

“Yes. We had to.”

“Exactly my point. A short, brutal life ending in an unmarked grave.”

I waited a moment, then said carefully, “Your father seemed to be researching something.”

“Oh, my father and his damned research. There was a time when we were on the same page, wanted the same thing—to be left alone. Then I decided that wasn’t enough. But just when I’m backing out of the life, he’s diving into it. Gets that cabin. Decides to rediscover his inner wolf. A damned midlife crisis.”

“Do you know what he was—?”

“I know nothing about my father’s life in the last couple of years. I didn’t care to. Now, please tell Clay I’m sorry, but I don’t wish to see him, and I would appreciate it if you’d both leave Alaska as soon as possible.”

He started walking away quickly.

“Joseph, please. We just want—”

He disappeared into the building.

I waited, hoping he’d come back out. When he didn’t, I made it to the corner before a familiar sensation washed over me. I didn’t turn, just waited for Clay to fall in step beside me.

“Didn’t go as well as you hoped, huh?” he said.

“No.”

We crossed the street.

“Thanks,” he said. “For trying to get him to see me.”

We walked half a block before I asked. “So how’s the research going?”

“Do you really think I’d go back to the room and read? While you’re walking around with three killer mutts on the loose?”

“It was, I believe, an order.”

“Not exactly. More of a firm suggestion. You need to work on your wording,”

I shook my head. “So how much did you hear?”

“Most of it.”

“I guess your friend has changed.”

“Some. But of all of us, Joey was always the least into the wolf stuff. It doesn’t surprise me that he’s gone this way. I don’t understand it, but it doesn’t surprise me.”

We walked another block in silence.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get him to talk to you. I really—”

“—tried, I know. You went back because you knew I was looking forward to seeing him again. I appreciate that. I really do.”

“I wanted the news to come from you, but I couldn’t walk away and not warn him, about the mutts and about his father.”

“And that’s all we can do. Warn him. Then leave him alone.”

* * * *

As we walked back to the hotel, I made two calls, the first to Lynn Nygard, the “paranormal enthusiast.” She still wasn’t home. I’d try again this evening. Thinking about that interview made me realize there might be an easy way to get it. So I placed the second call.

“Hope Adams,” a young woman’s voice answered. “
True News
.”

“Hey, Hope. It’s Elena. How are you doing?”

Clay rolled his eyes as I launched into small talk. He would have gotten straight to the point. I asked Hope what she was working on and told her what we were doing, and while part of that was civility, most was genuine interest.

I’ve never been what you’d call a social butterfly, but there had been a period in my life, after Clay bit me, when I didn’t have any female friends. Even during the stretches when I wasn’t living at Stonehaven, I couldn’t seem to get past the acquaintance stage with other women. I felt too different. When the werewolves rejoined the supernatural world, I started to fill that void, first with Paige, then with Jaime and Hope. And while I’d never be one to chat on the phone for hours or set up shopping weekends in New York, it was nice having other women to talk to.

I liked Hope. In her I saw determination and a need for self-reliance undermined by shaky self-confidence, and I could relate to that. I’d been the same way at her age and some days I don’t think I’ve come far since.

I’d met Hope through Karl Marsten. Their friendship moved to romance a couple of years ago. I’m still not sure how I feel about that. I worry that Hope will get hurt, but Karl seems committed enough… as committed as a werewolf jewel thief mutt-turned-reluctant-Pack-member can get.

“Anyway,” I said. “I called to warn you that I’m now your assistant.”

“Cool. I’ve been telling my editor for years I need one. When can I start forwarding all my alien abduction mail to you?”

“Whenever you want Logan and Kate to start answering it.”

She laughed. “Actually, that’s an idea. Reply in crayon scrawl and they’ll spend weeks deciphering the coded message from E.T… weeks during which they won’t pester
True News’s
beleaguered Weird Tales girl. So what’s this assistant business about? You need a cover?”

“Exactly.” I explained about Lynn Nygard. “I thought I’d buy myself some street cred by saying I work with you. I’ll say I’m on vacation, not officially following a story.”

“But intrigued by her theory, you’re checking it out, with the unspoken hint that maybe, just maybe, she’ll make it into our hallowed pages. Sure, go for it. Not like anyone here will deny it. When your job is investigating the paranormal, no one questions a phantom assistant, as long as they don’t need to pay her salary.”

“Speaking of paranormal…” I told her about our encounter with the mystery beast. “And no, I don’t really think it was Bigfoot or a yeti or the Abominable Snowman, but if you have a spare moment to check your files, see if there are any reports on strange encounters in Alaska, I’d appreciate it.”

“Consider it done.”

* * * *

I’d barely hung up when I got a call from a number I didn’t recognize, one that looked like it came from overseas. A wrong number, I was sure, but I answered anyway.

“Elena Michaels?” an accented voice asked.

“Yes?”

“It is Roman Novikov. Jeremy said that I would be calling?”

Shit. That was the part of the message I’d missed—not that Jeremy would call back, but that Roman would. I gestured for Clay to stop walking and ducked into the mouth of an alley, getting away from the traffic noise.

“Yes, he did,” I said. “Thank you. We appreciate this.”

“It is no problem.” He chuckled. “Though it is different, speaking to a werewolf and hearing a woman’s voice. A nice difference, though. You are well?”

“I am, and yourself?”

A brief exchange of pleasantries followed. My heart thumped throughout it. I’d never had any contact with Roman before, and now, talking to an Alpha, knowing I’d soon be Alpha myself, wondering whether that would put a sudden end to any international relations… Let’s just say I knew I had to make a good impression.

He asked how Clay was and how the kids were, then about the weather in Alaska.

“That is weather for the beach!” he exclaimed. “I thought your Alaska was supposed to be like our Siberia. It is colder everywhere in Russia this time of the year. But I suppose you do not mind the cold. It is in your blood. Jeremy says your mother is from Russia. An Antonov. What city did she come from?”

I admitted that I didn’t know. My mother died when I was five, and I wasn’t sure whether she’d come to Canada as an immigrant or her parents had. While there’d never been grandmas and grandpas and aunts and uncles at my childhood Christmases, I had a vague recollection that such people existed. To research my family tree, though, would mean confirming the suspicion—that I had family who, on the death of my parents, turned their back on me and let me spend my life in a succession of increasingly worse foster homes. I don’t care to face that truth, so all I know is that my mother was of Russian ancestry. I explained that to Roman.

“And there was no family to take you? That is not right.”

“I survived.” I thought of my foster families. Thought of that letter and felt the rage boil, needing only the smallest reminder to surge to the surface again. I squeezed my eyes and forced it back.

He continued. “I ask only because, I have been thinking after Jeremy mentioned it, that it is rare for a bitten werewolf to survive. We have one in my Pack. He was the grandson of a werewolf’s daughter, and I have always thought that is why he survived, because he had the blood. I have two Antonovs in my Pack. It is an old family of werewolves.” He chuckled. “But it is also a common enough name, so I am likely mistaken. I only thought it was interesting. I should like to meet you someday, see if you look like our Antonovs, if you would like to come. With your mate, of course, and Jeremy.”

“Sure. I’d love to.” But would the offer evaporate when he found out I was to be Alpha? Did Jeremy really know what he was doing?

“Enough of my old man ramblings. I am calling about this problem you are having. With the… I do not know what you call them. Stray dogs?”

“Mutts. It means a dog that isn’t purebred.”

“Ah, that is the same thing we call them. Interesting. But it would seem these ‘mutts’ of yours really are
ublyudokii
of ours, a group we thought we had gotten rid of. The leaders, though, are yours. Americans. Originally, that is, though it has been many years since they were on their home soil. They are a pair of brothers. The Teslers. Travis and Edward.”