Master of Wolves (11 page)

Celestine swore vilely. “So she was able to transform and help the werewolf escape. Those
stupid
fuckers!”

“That's about the size of it.”

“Were any of the men hurt?” Though it would probably serve the morons right, she needed all of them intact for her plan to work.

“No.” He shrugged. “They got lucky. Apparently Weston's primary objective was getting the hell away, and the werewolf was still stunned.”

Her pleasant fantasies of blood sacrifice vanished. The idea of a magic-resistant werewolf on the loose was terrifying. And
two
of them. “Find her, Keith. Find them both and bring them to me.”

He straightened his bloody shoulders. “It's done.”

“It had better be.” Throwing a look at the shutters—fingers of sunlight were stabbing between the slats—she gestured, creating a magical gate to her lair deep beneath the plantation. Without a backward glance, she stepped into the blessed dark.

 

Faith woke to
a house full of magic, male voices, and alien scents. Alarmed, she rolled out of bed, bare feet hitting the worn rug with a muted thump. A quick glance out the window told her it was early afternoon.

She hastily jerked on her uniform, grimacing in disgust at its stains. Even as she reached for her gun belt, she realized she needed a hell of a lot more firepower than any nine millimeter could give her.

Closing her eyes, Faith summoned her magic. Given the circumstances, the pain of transformation felt oddly comforting.

When she opened her eyes again, something red and looming stared back at her. Startled, Faith jerked away. The monstrous wolf-headed thing did the same. Belatedly, she realized it was her reflection in the bureau mirror.

Staring into her own glowing green eyes, Faith straightened to her full height. She wasn't as broad and thickly muscled as Jim in Dire Wolf form. Her body was smaller, with curves beneath the red fur that was the same color as her human hair.

But if she was smaller than Jim, the claws tipping her fingers were just as sharp as his. And so, she saw, opening her jaws, were her long white teeth.
I'd scare the shit out of an armed robber,
she thought, oddly pleased.
Hell, I'd scare the shit out of Charles Manson.

It was a comforting realization for a woman used to being the weakest person in any fight. Her fear retreating, Faith headed downstairs to help Jim deal with their “guests.”

Silent as a cat on her bare feet, Faith reached the landing to find a man standing with his back to the stairs. One glance told her it wasn't Jim, but it wasn't a cop either. Not only was he wearing a tailored blue suit, that pink waist-length hair definitely didn't belong to anybody she knew. And he smelled like magic—clean, bright, and wild.

“Who the hell are you?” she growled.

The man whirled. His metallic silver eyes widened as he caught sight of her. She felt the rush and tingle of magic swirling through the air. In an instant, the blue suit became gleaming armor, and a long sword shimmered into existence in his hand.

Faith took a wary step back on the landing, not sure whether to attack or run like hell. Was this one of those knights Jim had mentioned?

The pink-haired man started up the stairs toward her, his silver eyes cold with murderous intent. She lifted her clawed hands in a gesture of warning. “Back off, Pinky.”

“Hey,” a female voice called from the foot of the stairs. “Don't eat my guards. Lairgnen, stand down!”

“It's okay, Faith, he's a friend,” Jim added.

Faith looked past Pinky to see a tall, slender woman standing at Jim's side. The resemblance was so striking, the two had to be related. Though the woman wore peach slacks and a knit top rather than royal robes, the conclusion was obvious. “You must be the queen of the Fairies.”

“And you must be…” The woman's gaze slid toward Jim. “…Faith. Nice to meet you. Lairgnen, let her pass.”

Pinky moved aside grudgingly, his silver gaze wary. Magic burst around him, and his armor became exquisite tailoring again.

But the sword remained firmly in his hand.

As Faith slipped past, she noticed that his ears formed elegant points thrusting through his silken fall of pastel hair. His face was just as astonishingly gorgeous and every bit as alien.

Looking down at Jim and the queen, Faith saw a group of men had joined them, all dressed in similar suits, all with long hair in rainbow shades. And every one of them glowered with identical expressions of incandescent hostility as she came down the stairs.

Of course,
Faith realized.
They must be the queen's bodyguards, and I'm a seven-foot werewolf. No wonder they're jumpy.

Pausing on the stairs, she closed her eyes to call the magic and return to human form. When she opened them again, all the men looked much happier.

And…surprisingly interested.

“Thanks,” the queen murmured to her with a dry smile. “They'll jerk a lot less.” She offered a hand as Faith descended the last of the stairs. “Diana Galatyn.”

“Faith Weston.” Shaking Diana's hand, she found the queen's grip was warm and strong, and she smelled…interesting. There was the same magic and evergreen scent that surrounded Jim, but under that was something Faith didn't quite recognize, something that reminded her, oddly, of fresh milk and baby powder. Catching Diana's amused expression, Faith realized she was sniffing.

“I'm pregnant,” the queen said softly. “That's what you smell.”

Heat bloomed across her face. Good God, she'd been sniffing the woman like an inquisitive poodle. “I beg your pardon!”

“Oh, cut it out.” The queen patted her shoulder. “You're practically family.”

Faith blinked. What had led her to
that
conclusion? Unless she meant “family” as in werewolf kind in general.

Jim gave her a comforting smile and turned to lead the way into the living room. “My sister isn't big on ceremony.”

Faith cleared her throat as her sense of mortification retreated. “I gather you used your magic Tinkerbell key chain.”

“And I was glad to get the call. Arthur and his crowd were driving me nuts.” Diana flung herself down in an overstuffed armchair and stretched out her long legs. Catching Faith's questioning look, she explained, “Arthur decided to ask my husband for help searching for those Black Grails of his, and I suddenly found myself hip-deep in the Round Table. Those knights may be decorative, but they're a pain in the ass.”

“Black Grails?” Faith said, glancing at Jim. “Like the grail the chief mentioned?”

“Apparently,” Jim said.

“Everybody's after those damn things.” Diana launched into a long and truly appalling account of Geirolf's creation of the Black Grails and how they were being used to create more vampires.

None of it was good news. “So if Arthur and his lot can find and destroy the two remaining Black Grails, the entire problem goes away,” Diana concluded, accepting the glass of Coke Faith handed her. She took a sip and sighed in pleasure. “God, I've missed this stuff. Anyway, whoever has the grails are doing a very good job of shielding them, and Arthur is at the end of his rope. He and assorted witches and knights showed up at our palace last night, asking my husband to help them break through the shields around the grails.”

“Which is a problem for Diana,” Jim explained, a beer propped on his knee. “Because the knights have evidently realized she's not Sidhe, but they're not sure what she is.”

“So every time I turn around, I'm tripping over them,” Diana finished, grimacing. “There's this one, Gawain—he's just scary.”

“Gawain,” Faith said, remembering a favored childhood story as she sipped her own Coke. Attempts to serve drinks to the bodyguards had been gently rebuffed. “Didn't he fight the Green Knight?”

“Yeah, only he's not nearly as cuddly as the guy in the story,” Diana said. “He's got this stone killer thing going that makes my entire guard quiver like bird dogs.”

“You are in no danger from him, Your Majesty,” one of the guards told her with stiff dignity. “We will protect you with our last breath.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” She waved a hand. “So anyway, I'm more than happy to get away from the palace for a while and hunt vampires. Where do we start?”

It was almost comical, the way identical expressions of alarm flashed across the faces of her brother and bodyguards.

“I don't think that's a good idea…” Jim began.

“Your Majesty, you can't be serious,” a silver-haired guard protested. “You carry the Heir to Heroes. You cannot personally involve yourself in a fight with this”—he grimaced—“vampire.”

“Indeed not,” Pinky agreed from where he stood at Faith's shoulder. “Some of us will assist your brother. You have no need to involve yourself.”

“Oh, for God's sake,” Diana growled. “I'm not made out of spun sugar, boys—I'm a Dire Wolf! I am more than capable of taking care of myself.”

“And we have lost far too many queens,” the silver-haired guard said with immense dignity. “We will not allow you to risk yourself.”

“Llyr wouldn't like it,” Jim agreed.

“Yeah, well, I don't like my brother fighting rogue werewolves without backup,” Diana snapped.

“Then assign a detachment of us to assist him,” Pinky said. Faith looked up to meet his gaze as he looked down at her. “I would be delighted to offer my services.” There was a distinct purr in his voice.

Good God,
Faith realized,
he's hitting on me.

 

Every muscle in
Jim's body coiled into furious knots at the look the pink-haired guard was giving Faith.

And he wasn't the only one, either. From the minute she'd returned to human form, the Sidhe had been watching her like cats eyeing a fluttering canary.

Faith hadn't seemed to notice, but it was obvious to Jim. They, too, were responding to her Burning Moon pheromones.
But she's my woman, dammit,
his inner Neanderthal growled.

“You need only say the word,” the one with cotton candy hair told Diana. “We will be happy to slay this vampire for your brother.”

“I can slay my own vampires,” Jim told him.

Diana's gaze flicked from Faith's face to Cotton Candy's. “I understand your concern,” she said delicately, “but does the expression, ‘cutting off your nose to spite your face' mean anything?”

She had a point, but Jim was damned if he'd admit it. “You know Charlie. He'd have a stroke if he knew a bunch of Sidhe started hanging around me with Arthur in the middle of a vampire hunt.”

Diana glowered. “I really don't give a rat's ass what Charlie Myers wants. He's a self-absorbed prick who's more interested in politics than his people's lives.”

“Frankly, I agree with you.” Jim spread his hands. “But I've got to live here, and if he decides to go after me, I've got a problem.”

“No, you don't.”

“Diana, he's threatened to sanction Mom and Dad if we blow the Direkind's cover.”

Diana's eyes widened in shock. “That little prick!”

Faith frowned. “Does that mean what I think it does?”

“If you think it means sending an assassination team to murder our parents, then yeah. It does.”

She looked at Diana. “You're right—Charlie is a prick.”

Jim nodded. “That's putting it mildly. The only reason he hasn't already sent a team after Diana is he knows Llyr would declare war on the Direkind.”

“
After
my darling husband told Arthur all about the werewolf facts of life.” His sister's eyes glittered with a cold and growing fury. “You tell Charlie to keep his distance from Mom and Dad, Jim, or I'll go to Arthur myself. Swear to God.” She rose from her seat, determination tightening her jaw. “On second thought,
I'll
deal with Charlie. I'm in the mood to kick a little fat ass. Lairgnen, I'll need a dimensional gate. Jim, what's Charlie's address?”

Alarmed, he rose and stepped into her path, knowing he'd better nip this in the bud as fast as possible. “Diana, I'm not sure that's a good idea. I think I've got Charlie cooled off right now, but if you get him stirred up again…”

For a moment she glared at him, rage simmering in those silver eyes so like his own. Then, thankfully, her fury drained away, and Diana sank back in her seat, glowering. “Oh, hell, maybe you're right. You and the rest of the family would end up catching the blowback.”

Jim frowned. “I can take care of myself.”

Diana smiled slightly, then rubbed her temples as though massaging a headache. “I suppose I should have listened to Dad and talked to the Council of Chiefs before I married Llyr. But I was damned if I was going to let a bunch of stuffed shirts dictate my private life.”

“Particularly since they'd have said no, and then you'd have had to disobey them.” Jim smiled dryly. “Given a choice between pissing off the Council and pissing off Cachamwri, I know who I'd choose.”

“Good point. The Dragon God is not the kind of guy you want to irritate.”

“Are you sure you don't want us to have a word with this”—Silver hair sneered—“Charlie, Your Majesty?”

“It's tempting, but no.” Diana shook her head. “Jim's right. The last thing I need is a war between the Sidhe and the Direkind, with my family caught in the middle. Much as I hate to admit it, I'm going to have to stay out of this thing.”

Cotton Candy looked disappointed. Jim felt the muscles in his shoulders relax.

“That may be for the best, Di,” he said. “After all, it's one rogue and one vampire. I can take care of them.”

Her expression was troubled. “I hope so, big brother. But if it breaks bad on you—”