Moonlight: The Big Bad Wolf (Black Swan 4) (13 page)

Food arrived and was being set in front of them as Glen walked away. Elora hoped that would be enough of a distraction, but no such luck.

"What was that about, Mrs. Hawking?"

Ram laughed. "You call her Mrs. Hawking?"

"He does it just to irritate me."

"I'm not a very progressive type werewolf."

"In other words, you're a crusty old has-been."

"No. I'm the elegant Old Guard."

"Hmmm. How's the trout?"

"Very nice. A little overcooked maybe. So what was the youngster's reference to my name?"

Elora sat back and sighed. "Okay. Busted."

Just then Helm started fussing so that she had to jiggle with a little more enthusiasm.

"Allow me," Ram said. "My wife became very attached to a pack of wolves in my grandfather's forest. 'Tis a nature preserve in Northern Ireland. 'Tis uncertain who adopted who, but I suspect the wolves would say they adopted Elora and her dog. To make a long story short, they gave her refuge and protection. She gave them names."

Grey looked amused and turned to Elora. "And you named one of them after me?" She nodded. "Well. It was very nice of you to be thinking of me. Was he alpha?"

Elora's smile was blinding. "He was. Is." Her smile faltered and clouded over as memories flitted across her face. Her eyes started to brim.

Stalkson Grey frowned. "What happened?"

Elora blinked rapidly and sniffed. "He saved my life." She looked down at the baby. "And Helm's. Just a few hours before he was born. But... Don't ask me to retell the story. Please. Some of the wolves..."

Ram interjected, "Some of the wolves were killed that day and she feels responsible because they were tryin' to protect her." Stalkson looked at Elora with renewed interest. "Glen, the kid who was just here... He and I gave them a very fine funeral."

"Here." Elora brightened and jostled Helm so that she could get to her phone. "Look at my puppies. My dog, Blackie, is the father."

Grey looked at the photos, but his amusement had been replaced with a look of displeasure.

"These little ones are half dog?" He was incredulous, a little horrified, not being able to believe that someone would deliberately weaken wolf genetics.

Hearing the prejudice in his tone, Elora was indignant on Blackie's behalf. "The bitch came in heat. There were rival wolves, but my dog won her fair and square."

The werewolf studied Elora's face for a few seconds and then looked down at the photos again. "You do know those are not
your
puppies, don't you?"

"Oh yes. I just call them that. I'm not going to keep more than one or two."

"You..." He was going to tell her that she couldn't
own
wild creatures, not even half wild creatures, but Elora held her hand up to look at the phone. "That's Farnsworth. Whister's on the roof pad and waiting for you."

Grey hesitated and then rose to leave. He wasn't sure he could change her mind in under a minute. She seemed to have a strong point of view.

Ram asked if he knew the way and offered to escort him. The werewolf king more or less snorted at the suggestion that he didn't know where he was, after he'd been given a tour. He shook hands with Ram, nodded at Elora and drew a collective feminine sigh in the mess as he walked past.

The combination of his beautiful hair pulled back in a leather thong and his muscular athleticism, common to natural predators, gave him an air of danger and a graceful economy of movement that was irresistibly appealing. He turned heads but either didn't care or was oblivious.

Without a segue way that made sense to anyone except Elora, she turned back to Ram. "You know, I've been thinking the past couple of days about Litha and her interdimensional slippage."

"Storm says 'tis called 'ridin' the passes', whatever that means. But what about it?"

She handed Helm over to his dad who had finished eating so that she could try and eat, if not enjoy, wilted asparagus under cold Hollandaise sauce. "Well..." She looked up at him through thick reddish-brown lashes.

Ram's eyes widened a little and he started shaking his head. "No. No. No. No. No." She smiled. He shook his head again. "No. I mean it. No."

"I'm not saying now. Maybe after Helm is grown? I want... Maybe I kind of
need
to find out what happened with the Ralengclan, find out if any of my family survived." She trailed off.

Ram looked thoughtful. "After Helm is grown?" She nodded. "So, is he to be an only elfling then?"

Elora sighed deeply as she looked around. "Depends on what happens with the IBD I guess. I'm not bringing more babies into a life of captivity. Growing up in military secure quarters?" She pressed her lips together and shook her head. "The only difference between this and palace grounds is what you call it."

Ram looked crestfallen. As someone passed the table he looked up and smiled, but his focus came right back to Elora and the conversation at hand.

She continued. "If we were able to reclaim our vision, our stone house by the stream with elfren and puppies growing up outside walls... That would be different."

Ram felt like he'd let her down. He knew she was doing her utmost to be upbeat about their predicament, but sometimes, when she didn't know she was being watched, he observed her looking melancholy. On a winter night in an ancient New Forest hunting cottage, he had promised to make her dreams come true. Instead, he had pressured her into reliving her nightmare of strict confinement.

He felt a wave of guilt and helplessness wash over him, and helplessness didn't easily share space with a proactive male, especially not one who was accustomed to affecting outcomes by force of will.

There was not a thing he could do to protect his little family if they left Jefferson Unit. For Paddy's sake, he might not even be able to protect them
inside
Jefferson Unit. That became fairly evident when five French-speaking vampire from some random dimension just popped in for dinner. To be secure, Helm and Elora would have to sleep in the middle of a knights' barracks. If there was such a thing, which, of course, there was not.

The bottom line was that celebrated hero, Sir Rammel Aelshelm Hawking, didn't know how to keep his wife and baby safe. And he was hating every microsecond of it! Awake or asleep, he was going to resent every fucking minute until he could turn to his mate and say, "Get your stuff. We're goin' home."

Farnsworth had booked a commercial flight for Grey from Newark to Spokane and put him in first class as a diplomatic gesture of goodwill. Even so, nine hours of traveling high above the ground, disconnected, was a harrowing experience for a werewolf.

When he reached Spokane, he headed straight for the FedEx office. The last thing he needed was more time in a transport vehicle. So he crammed his boots and jacket into his travel bag and shipped his bag to the reservation border station. He knew he was taking a chance by leaving his travel ID and money in his bag, but the reward was going to far outweigh the risk. Naturally he got some double takes from people who noticed he was walking around barefoot in winter.

He jogged from the airport to the cover of trees, feeling joyful to be on the ground and away from the noises and smells of tightly packed crowds of humans. It was just twenty eight miles to the western border of the reservation - an easy run for a wolf still in his prime. Stripping out of the remaining clothes, he collapsed into wolf form then stretched his neck and limbs. He allowed himself a whine of pure pleasure in the feeling of freedom as he headed toward the first climb.

When he reached the reservation overlook, he whined again.
Home.
So good to be home.

He was coming back with a heart that was a little less heavy. Certainly the scientist had made no promises other than to send people to investigate, but that was progress because it was
something,
where there was nothing before.

When he reached the edge of the community made up of log buildings and lodges that blended with the environment so well as to be almost invisible by satellite, he shifted into human form. Some of the young ones in wolf form came bounding to meet him with happy yapping, ears down, rear ends wiggling pretending to challenge him in play. He laughed and gave each one a little tumble.

So good to be home.

CHAPTER_7

Two days later Storm and Litha met Sol in the knights' lounge for a late coffee by the fire. Well, it was late for Sol on east coast time, but just after dinner for the Californians.

Storm told the server to add Baileys for all three.

"Baileys? Is there a reason why you think my edge needs to be smoothed out tonight?" Sol asked.

"Matter of fact, there is." Sol arched a brow as he took a sip of Irish coffee. "I've been thinking about what you said about wanting to retire." Sol sat up straighter, thinking a favorable announcement was coming next. "It's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and a great honor to be considered." Sol brightened, looking even more pleased, which just made it harder for Storm to say what had to be said. "I'm not the right man for the job."

Sol seemed to visibly wilt at that. He sat back allowing the plush cushions of the chair to mold around him like a comforting hug. He nodded slightly and brought his cup to his lips looking thoughtful.

"But I do want to recommend someone."

A tiny bit of the tension in the furrows between Sol's brows smoothed out. "Really? Someone I know?"

"Sort of. Someone you just met. Glendennon Catch. He translated for the, um, vampire the other night."

Sol gaped openly before laughing out loud. "That baby? He's not even at the age of declaration. Not to mention that he can't keep his pants up around his waist where they belong. Does he really think the rest of us care to know that he's wearing Cameron tartan boxers?"

Storm cocked his head and looked amused. "I didn't know you were an expert on plaids."

Nemamiah's ears turned pink. "There's a lot about me you don't know."

Storm quietly studied his mentor. "No doubt. Likewise, there's a lot you don't know about him." Sol responded with an abbreviated snort. Storm leaned forward and put his forearms on his knees. "Do you remember when I buzzed my hair and bleached it platinum blonde?"

"You didn't!" Litha sounded part horrified and part intrigued. Storm cut his eyes at her, noting the sudden interest.

A slow smile spread across Sol's face and grew into a chuckle. "You looked ridiculous."

"Okay." Storm nodded agreeably. "How do I look now?"

Sol's expression returned to his characteristic sobriety. "Point taken. Make your case."

Storm set his coffee cup down carefully. "Alright. You said it yourself. It's a new world. Or should I say worlds? New challenges are going to put some strain on The Order. The only way it survives is by revising perspectives and goals, then reorganizing. That kind of overhaul is for the young.

"The kid is unique. Brilliant and so multi-talented that nobody wants to put him in a box. There's simply nothing he
can't
do. He masters everything he tries. Effortlessly."

"And you think he can manage the wild bunch?" Sol's gaze wandered over the other people occupying the lounge, his eyes resting on various active duty knights here and there. "They won't just follow because somebody says, 'I lead'. Add that he's just a kid..."

"He's impressive, Sol. In every way you can think of.

"Simon gave him lead on the rescue operation when Elora was missing. He was put in charge of the snooty head of medical who's a pretentious asswipe, and a veteran Whister pilot with enough hubris for a squadron. And he did okay." That was high praise coming from Storm. The two people sitting with him both knew him well enough to recognize that.

"That pilot..." A grin flashed over Storm's face as he seemed to be remembering. "He told me that the kid thing is just a weird choice of disguise; that Glen's balls are big and hard like the ones they use in croquet."

Sol looked unconvinced. "Okay. I get it. You think he's a gift to Black Swan from the gods. I still don't like the way he dresses."

"We don't have a dress code though, do we?"

"No. We don't," Sol admitted, adding, "as demonstrated by Z Team."

The gleam that instantly flamed into life behind Sol's eyes when he mentioned Z Team might as well have been a banded news ticker running across his face announcing what he was thinking.

Storm started shaking his head emphatically. "No. You're not turning Fuck Up Team loose on my protégé."