Devoncroix Dynasty - The Promise Part 2

Looking back, I suppose that was the most significant feast day of my life.

Well, perhaps the second most significant.

The first time I saw the Palais at Lyons it took my breath away, just as it was designed to do. The approach was through the verdant French countryside and rambling vineyards-Devoncroix, of course-which were so different from the Alaska of my childhood and the Alps of my youth that my eyes hurt from trying to take it all in, my head swam with the effort of sorting all the scents and sounds. We went through a set of tall iron gates emblazoned with the Devoncroix crest in gold and worked with griffins sporting wolf heads at the top, and then down a long quiet road paved with crushed sh.e.l.ls and striped with the shadows of well-s.p.a.ced chestnut trees.

The year was 1915, and we arrived in a long sleek Daimler automobile, Matise and Freda and I, so excited we could hardly keep still. We had come to celebrate our Ascension from L'Ecole, and a special feast day had been called for it. Members of the pack from all over the world had gathered at the Devoncroix ancestral home in Lyons to celebrate the Ascension of the two eldest children of the leaders of the pack-along with all the rest of our cla.s.s, of course- into adulthood.

By this time Palais Devoncroix had been virtually deserted for almost fifteen years, although a staff had been left behind to maintain it. This was the model after which the grand human palaces of Versailles and Tuileries were designed, and though it might no longer be the showcase for pack treasures, not even a decade of relative disuse could detract from its grandeur. As we came up the long drive we held our collective breath for the first glimpse of this marvel, so fabled in legend and in song.

It did not disappoint. We rounded a curve and there it was, arranged like a giant wedding cake atop a gentle green hill, reflecting its own glory in a wide, still lake at its base. It was fashioned of the finest pink marble in the Italianate style, with many curved balconies and fluted turrets, stained-gla.s.s windows and hanging gardens. The facade seemed to pour gracefully down over the hill-side with three separate sets of wide, curving steps, each leading to a pair of beautifully carved and decorated doors that were two stories high and etched with gold. The part we could see was enormous, but the part we could not see-the myriad of rooms and galleries and indoor gardens-took up almost ten hectares of land.

I could not suppress a gasp, straining to get the best view of the approach through the Daimler's windscreens. "Why-it's almost as grand as Castle Devoncroix!"

"Not nearly," corrected Matise. "But," he had to admit, "it's quite impressive.

As it should be, since it was home to our mother's ancestry and retainers, literally, and the world pack, figuratively- not to mention its function as a cultural center and social seat for all the pack-for centuries." "You do take such a great lot of words to say the simplest things," remarked Freda without bothering to glance at him. Her gaze, like mine, was fixed on the spectacle ahead. Then she added, almost absently, "I should like to see Castle Devoncroix someday." "I can't think why you shouldn't," Matise answered, for he was never offended by Freda's criticisms. "We're going home this summer. You should come with us." "Not me," I replied gaily, climbing onto my knees for a better view. "I have the whole world to see first!" "And I'm going to see it with her!" Freda said, and then gasped, "Oh, my!" and craned her neck backward as we pa.s.sed through another set of tall iron gates filigreed with gold which opened magically at our approach. The driver slowed the vehicle as we crossed the arched stone bridge that spanned the lake, and we were all three appropriately silent, appreciating the spectacular view. Then Matise said, "Papa says this will be the last pack gathering here. In the future, the official pack headquarters will be in Alaska." "I can't think how that will be convenient," observed Freda, "since all of the pack is in Europe." "Well, it's the humans, you know," Matise told her, sounding very sage, "and their silly wars. Papa feels it would be safer if we watched from afar. We do stand to make a great deal of money, though." "From Alaska?" "No, from the war. Neutralities always flourish when nations battle, and we are ultimately neutral. In addition, we own all the steel and chemical factories, and those are the commodities humans require to make munitions, not to mention the shipyards and-" "Oh, bother the humans and their silly wars!" I exclaimed impatiently. My eyes were fairly bursting with the effort to see everything at once, and when the Daimler rolled to a stop in front of the center set of steps, I tumbled out almost before the wheels had stopped turning. I stood there silently for a moment, my breath completely stolen away, filled with the awe of my ancestral home. "Matise," I whispered as he and Freda alighted from the car and stood beside me, "can you believe we're here?" For there we were at the bottom of the curve of the great steps so often depicted in painting and tale, within the shadow of the great statues of Armaden the Great Mother and Silos, who had claimed pack dominance for the Devoncroix a dozen centuries ago. Lining the steps in a double column was the honor guard, each wolf chosen as much for his or her magnificent good looks as for skill in battle-a perfectly matched set of black-furred, broad-chested, chocolate-eyed wolves standing at fierce attention to announce the presence within of the leaders of the pack. All around us were the sights and sounds and smells of celebration-elegant werewolves in gala attire with their parasols and walking sticks and lovely big hats trimmed with yards and yards of chiffon; and werewolves in their unfettered natural form, chasing one another in the sun, dozing on the rocks, splashing in the streams. The air was scented with wonder and antic.i.p.ation, and it tingled in my bones. Despite our parents' efforts to protect us from the unsightliness of the humans' war, we had pa.s.sed through shocking evidence of violence and folly on our way here: gutted cities, burned fields, marching soldiers and crying, orphaned children. But in this haven of our people, in this deep protected valley, it was as though the war that raged in the north of France did not exist. Suffering and death could not touch us here. Human foolishness was banished from our doors. An invisible shield marked our territory and within it were only elegance, surety and magnificence. "There's magic in this place," I said softly, and hugged the possibilities to me like a delightful secret. "Can't you feel it?" Matise put his arm around my shoulders and Freda squeezed my gloved hand with her own and the moment was so poignant, so filled with promise and expectation, that I can see it to this day with my mind's eye, as sharp as a photograph. What a beautiful trio we made, standing together ready to conquer the world: Matise, so exquisitely handsome in his gray-striped trousers and stylishly c.o.c.ked straw boater, with all that gorgeous striped hair caught behind his collar with a black ribbon; and Freda, in the emerald green that was her best color, with her hair swept up in a chignon to the side of a wide-brimmed hat of pale green trimmed with ostrich feathers and mauve ribbons; and I, stunning in a white linen hobble skirt and mid-length coat sashed with wide scarlet satin and a marvelous, enormous black hat tied with white chiffon streamers. Oh, we were beautiful. We were strong, we were bright, we were confident. We were ready to conquer the world. And on that bright summer morning in that most reverent of all places, I honestly believed we could. Ten The Wilderness 12:08 Alaska Standard Time November 24 The voice of the human, mildly hoa.r.s.e with so many hours of sustained vocalization, cracked and faded on the last sentence. She made an airy coughing sound, then closed the book and left the room. In a moment Nicholas heard water being poured into a kettle, and smelled an electric burner. Nicholas thought about Brianna and Matise and Freda Fasburg, and wondered what their story could possibly have to do with him; with scientists ma.s.sacred in a laboratory, with the a.s.sa.s.sination of one pack leader and the attempted murder of another. It all tied in to Brianna, Nicholas knew that. His father had known it too. He had been so insistent that Nicholas read the book... Restlessly, Nicholas tried to put together the pieces of the past few hours-or was it days? Desperation flooded his veins as he wondered how long he had been ill. How long had the pack been unprotected, without leadership? Were they searching for him even now? Or did they think he was dead? A speeding automobile in the night. A bomb hidden on a helicopter. Werewolves turning upon one another, murdering each other like humans... such were the times in which they lived. Such were the dangers to the pack. And he was here, helpless and confined, powerless to prevent whatever catastrophe the Dark Brotherhood had in store. Their plan was obvious, their genius absolute. For almost a hundred years this subversive group of human-haters had gone underground, had managed, even, to convince the pack that they no longer existed, biding their time until they could resurface and take control in a single dramatic coup. They had quietly infiltrated the pack over the past decade, doing their jobs so effectively that to this day not one of their members had been positively identified. They had learned the secrets of the Devoncroix administration, its weaknesses and its strengths, and they had formulated their plan. The plan was brilliant: to a.s.sert themselves when father and son were divided, to a.s.sa.s.sinate the old leader and take over the pack before the heir could a.s.sume power... and to use Nicholas's own edict to do it. Garret had been right. He had played right into their hands. But it made no sense. Alexander had been killed because he opposed the edict, but Nicholas had championed it. Had he been left unmolested, he would have inadvertently proved a friend to the Dark Brotherhood, not a threat. Then why had they tried to kill him as well as his father? Unless... Something tickled the back of Nicholas's memory. What was it Michel had said? If the Council chooses to oppose you...it could be months, years, before the entire pack accepts your decree... And the Dark Brothers had not the luxury of time. They must move swiftly while the pack was weak, while it was without a leader, while the most powerful decree ever written was waiting to become law. But how had they known? How could they have known what Nicholas was planning? His security system was impenetrable. No one except his parents had known about his intention to issue the edict, and every conversation they had had about it had been on a secure line. And then, without warning, something else Michel had said came back to him. It might be best to have no hard copies just yet, if you know what I mean... Michel had insisted that he send the edict electronically. Because hard copies would have been destroyed when the helicopter went down? It might be more efficient if I stayed here for a few hours... rather than accompany you home...

Nicholas felt a chill with the remembrance, and his heart began to pound. He had to get out of here. He had to warn Garret. He had to protect his pack. The human woman returned, a mug of tea sweetened with honey in one hand and a dish of fresh water in the other. He watched her carefully, eyes narrowed. If she opened the door of the cage, he could bolt. He could overpower her effortlessly. But he had not the strength to Change, not yet. And without Changing he could not use his telephone or high-frequency radio, or even work the locks on the doors. But she did not open the cage door. There was a slot at the bottom of the cage, too narrow for the bowl in which she had brought him food earlier, but just the right size for the flatter dish that held the water. She slipped it through, up against his paws. "Drink, fellow," she encouraged softly. "Your body needs to stay hydrated in order to get well." What do you know of what my body needs? he thought contemptuously. What I need is to get out of this place, to hunt, to feed, to return to my people... She knelt beside him, studying his nearly healed wounds through the bars of the cage with a mixture of horror and amazement. "How do you do that?" she whispered, raising her eyes to his. "What kind of creature are you?" He thought desperately, Worthless human!. Call someone!. Tell them about the crash, about what you've found. My people will be monitoring every broadcast, every report. But how can they begin to search for me when they don't know where to look? Hannah sipped her tea and said absently, "I suppose I should try to get a message through about the crash. But with this storm building, no one could get out here. And it's not as though there were any survivors... except you," she added softly. His heart gave a single powerful thud before resuming its more-or-less usual rhythm again. Impossible. Not even the most accomplished werewolf could communicate with a human while in wolf form. Human brains were far too small to allow them to understand the unspoken thought, everyone knew that. And yet... how many werewolves, he wondered, had ever tried to communicate with a human while in wolf form? He caught her gaze. He formed a picture in his mind of his SCU-Satellite Communications Unit. It was a device that, though not yet on the market for humans, allowed him to receive radio and television broadcasts, to send faxes and electronic mail, and to make secure telephone calls from anywhere in the world using the Devoncroix communications satellite. He knew she would not be able to master the complexities of making a satellite telephone call with the device, but if the transmitter switch were simply turned on, it would send a locator signal that would instantly alert Garret. Go to the briefcase, he commanded her. Find the small black box there. Bring it to me.

She sipped her tea, observing him intently. "Who are you?" she whispered. "Are you-Matise?" Stupid human, listen to me. Go! Go now to the briefcase! She frowned and rubbed a spot just above the bridge of her nose, as though it hurt her. She said, "I know you're no ordinary wolf, but is it possible... is it possible this book isn't just a piece of fiction?" Then she made an impatient sound low in her throat and shook her head. "Of course it's possible. Why shouldn't it be possible?" Look at me, human. Let me see your eyes. Do what I tell you. Bring me the box. She looked at him then, and frowned again. Nicholas watched her, hardly daring to breathe, as she stood up, glanced around uncertainly and walked away. Idly Hannah flipped open the top of the briefcase and surveyed the contents there, wondering if she had overlooked something that might identify him... might identify the owner of the briefcase, she corrected herself mentally. She opened the folder of papers and thumbed through them again. There were signatures at the bottom of one of the contracts, and an international telephone number- Paris, she thought-on the face sheet. But she didn't have a telephone, so that was of no help. The box, human. Bring me the box! She picked up the electronic organizer again, pushed what appeared to be the "on" b.u.t.ton, turned it over, tried the b.u.t.ton again. Yes, that's it. Bring it to me. Hannah discovered a slider switch recessed into the side of the organizer, and when she pushed it up the device jerked open like a pocket phone. She lifted an eyebrow in surprise. Inside there were several b.u.t.tons and toggles, but no keypad. She had never seen anything like it before. She tried the "on" b.u.t.ton again and this time the small screen glowed green. So the battery was operative, but apparently the database had been damaged. She tried a few of the b.u.t.tons in rapid succession, but got nothing more than muted bleeps. It's voice-activated, Nicholas thought urgently. You can't access the functions without a verbal command. Bring it to me. I can press the switch that will send the locator signal. Nicholas watched in despair as she turned the device off and put it aside with a shrug. She picked up her quilt and the red book, then settled close to him on the sofa. She glanced in his direction and smiled. "Shall we finish this chapter?" Once again, she began to read aloud. From the Writings of Matise Devoncroix BRIANNA The ascension ceremony was preceded by two days of feasting and celebration, of pack runs and athletic compet.i.tions and theater performances and symphony concerts. We, the one hundred three young werewolves about to enter adulthood, were the honored guests, the featured artists, the focus of all indulgent attention. Matise competed in two races; he won the first and came in third in the second, yet such a fuss was made over him as though he had won both races. I sang a Verdi aria on the outdoor stage upon which so many of my ill.u.s.trious ancestors had performed, and when I happened to glance toward my parents' elevated seats I saw my papa's eyes glisten with tears as he brought my mother's hand to his lips, and my mother's face was misty with pride. Lost in the thunder of applause and the wash of stage lights and the sweet, sweet smell of the adoration of hundreds and hundreds of werewolves, I was so trans-ported I trembled with the glory of it. With only the smallest of efforts I could have raised my arms and leapt into the Pa.s.sion at that moment, I was sure of it. But I did not. I had other plans. There is always at least one mating ceremony at feast celebrations, for what would any celebration be without an acknowledgement of that most essential part of what we are, and thus why we are able to celebrate anything at all? These ceremonies are both joyous and solemn, ribald and pa.s.sionate and profoundly sentimental. Everyone who is able attends, from the just-weaned cub to the gray-muzzled grandfather: friends, relatives, distant acquaintances, enemies, business rivals, all come together to partic.i.p.ate with delight and awe in this, the beginning of new life, and the continuation of what we are. While the bride and groom were being feted by their closest family and friends with exotic wines and gourmet delicacies, while they were being ma.s.saged with scented oils and serenaded and petted and pampered and otherwise prepared for the solemn moment of their union, hedonistic bliss ruled the pack. Great tables were set up in the halls of the Palais and in the parks, each laden with sides of mutton and beef, wheels of cheese, steaming breads, thick blood puddings and sweets of every imaginable variety. Huge barrels of Devoncroix wine were tapped and the gla.s.ses pa.s.sed freely beneath the flow. Because of the nature of the occasion, we all wore loose changing gowns or nothing at all, and, out of respect to the prospective mates, we all maintained our human forms. There would be plenty of time for Changing-for running and flirting and conceiving young, if one were already mated-after the bride and groom had had their hour of glory. Despite the restriction to human form-or perhaps because of it-gluttony ruled the day. We had already feasted until we were bored with eating, yet we somehow found a way to force down one more dollop of head cheese, one more bite of pastry dripping in caramel sauce. And there was s.e.x, the indulgence of the day, the ultimate gluttony, and the air was thick with the smell of it. How we loved each other, in the heady, drunken eros of that midsummer day, beautiful bodies hot with the sun and slick with pa.s.sion, lips and tongues caressing, fingertips stroking, arms and legs locked as we tumbled, kissing, suckling, adoring, on the soft meadow gra.s.s and fell into the perfumed fields of flowers. Ah, it was ecstasy... at least for those who were asked.

Freda and I enjoyed it all from the gently swirling waters of a hot pool in the high meadow, overfilled gla.s.ses of wine in our hands, a platter of sweets on a floating table between us. Warm fingers of water caressed our toes and our nipples and stroked between our thighs. The fragrance of blended lavender and patchouli was almost as drugging as the wine, the kiss of the sun rich and soporific. Lost in a sensual haze of sweet b.u.t.ter creams and dark, strong wine, of swirling heat and gentle s.e.xual pleasure, I envied no werewolf in the world. Freda sighed deeply and settled her shoulders beneath the water, letting bubbles tickle her chin. The steam rose and slickened her face, pasting to her skin the tendrils of dark hair that escaped from her topknot. "Ah, those Romans," she murmured. "What clever werewolves they were to invent the baths." "The Romans did not invent them," I corrected drowsily. "They simply perfected the design." "Nonetheless, I shall be sure to send them a thank-you note." She lifted her gla.s.s above her head and, extending her tongue, spilled a stream of wine onto it. Of course she could not catch it all and we both burst into giggles as red wine dribbled down her chin and into the water, and she pretended to lap up droplets from the bubbles. I splashed water into her face and she s.n.a.t.c.hed up a candy and tossed it at me and I caught it with my teeth, which sent her into another gale of giggles. And then at the same time we became aware of the lovely familiar scent of hot male skin and werewolf musk and we turned in the pool to watch. ) It was Matise, and a light-haired female from one of the other schools, and an auburn-haired vixen named Aenid from the Science department at L'Ecole. They played a laughing game of chase across the meadow, lithe young creatures with long slim muscles and glowing faces and wind-combed hair, and my brother was the most comely of the threesome. In the school of the arts we had access to representative pieces from all the Great Masters, and one entire hall was filled with nothing but exquisite werewolf bodies worked in marble. Not one of them could have compared to Matise, with his powerful shoulders and lean waist and long thighs and firm b.u.t.tocks. His hair, colored like caramel marbled with b.u.t.terscotch, fell to his shoulder blades in thick waves that smelled like forest and sunshine and cool spongy moss; you wanted to gather it up by the handfuls and bury your face in it whenever he was near. He had a good face with a mouth that was always ready to laugh or to kiss, and eyes like Papa's, full of devilment. He was a joy simply to watch. Speaking my thoughts out loud, Freda said, "My, he is beautiful." I turned onto my stomach and let the buoyancy of the mineral water lift my legs as I folded my arms upon the tiled wall of the pool and rested my chin upon them. Matise chose that moment to allow Aenid to capture him by tagging his ankle, and the two of them went down in a laughing dance of tangled hair and entwining limbs and greedy tasting mouths. When the blond, only a step or two behind, caught up with them, Matise grabbed her wrist without ever removing his mouth from Aenid's breast, and pulled her into the fray. "Do you know," Freda remarked, "humans have their s.e.x in secret, even on their mating day." "How odd." I grew bored as Matise focused his attention on pleasuring the blonde and Aenid began to caress his genitals with her tongue. I turned over and took up my winegla.s.s again, sipping thoughtfully. "Have you ever thought about it-what it must be like to be mated? To have another person's heart beat in time with yours, to carry in your head all the secrets of their life and to know they carry yours? To know their thoughts? Not even Matise and I know each other's thoughts. It's really quite terrifying, isn't it? To be bonded like that to someone for all your life." Freda nodded solemnly. "I think humans are more sensible about it, actually. They simply have s.e.x and have babies." I agreed. I thought about mating a great deal; of course I did. I thought about it in the same way I thought about the Pa.s.sion, with hope and determination and no small amount of desperation. Since one can mate only in wolf form, the two were integrally connected, of course. But we were fifteen, Freda and I, and no one would expect us to mate until we were thirty at the earliest. There was time. And on that fine summer day, when the air was charged with hope and promise I believed it more than I ever had before. It would happen for me. I knew it. I asked, sipping my wine, "Who will you mate with, Freda?" She shrugged, trying to look unconcerned. "We always mate with our cousins. Although now the queen-your mother-says we mustn't anymore because the pack needs more variety in its gene pool." I tried to think why this should make her unhappy enough to pretend it didn't matter at all, which was what she was doing. Her tone was easy and her posture relaxed, but her scent was distinctly troubled and I could hear a heaviness in her pulse that hadn't been there before. "But that's good, isn't it?" I prompted. "Isn't it better to have the whole pack to choose from than just a few cousins?" "I suppose." Her smile was a little wan. "Provided, of course, someone in the pack chooses me as well." And that, of course, was why we were alone in the pool, instead of enjoying the company of strong young males. Freda was beautiful in human and wolf form; she was bright, she was fast, she was cunning. It infuriated me that she should be shunned simply because she had had the misfortune to be born into a family whose ancestors, several hundred years ago, had exercised bad judgment If Freda's enrollment at L'Ecole had been my parents' experiment in returning the Fasburgs to the pack, it had, in my opinion, failed miserably. "Maman will find someone to mate with you," I declared loyally, squeezing her fingers under the water. "I'll tell her so."

"Never mind, Freda," offered Matise gaily, coming upon us from behind. "If things grow lean enough you can always mate with me!" He sprang into the pool with a tidal wave of exuberance that splashed our eyes and soaked our hair and spilled our wine. We squealed and slapped at him with appropriate outrage, and Freda replied darkly, swiping at her stinging eyes, "I shall never be desperate enough to choose you for a mate, Matise Devoncroix!" "Ah, but you mustn't be premature. You have no idea what an excellent lover I am." "Everyone in the pack knows what an excellent lover you are," I returned, scowling as I picked up and discarded a soggy pastry. He clasped Freda suddenly by the shoulders and covered her mouth with his, kissing her deep and hard with tongue and teeth, making her pulse race and her skin flush. I watched with amus.e.m.e.nt at first, and then with a growing uneasiness. I think that was the first time it occurred to me that one day Matise would mate. He would mate, and we would be separated. I tugged his hair sharply and he released Freda with a yelp of pain. He turned on me with his hand raised and I bared my teeth to him. We would never have dared display such savage behavior, even in play, before anyone but Freda, and she laughed-albeit a little breathlessly. "Very well," she admitted, eyes sparkling, "perhaps your reputation as a lover is deserved. But you really must work on your finish." Matise grinned and ducked under the water, staying long enough to wash away the scents of all the females he had been with that afternoon. He came up gasping and streaming, parting the wet hair away from his eyes and raking handfuls of water off his face. Again Freda and I squealed and shielded our wine as he shook a great spray of water over us. "Go away, you horrible beast," I commanded, pushing at him with my feet. "We were having a lovely time without you. Go back to practicing being a great lover." He slipped his arm around me and kissed me tenderly, tugging at my lower lip gently with his teeth, breathing his sweet-scented breath into my throat. He snuggled his face into my neck, inhaling the essence of my scent, and I did the same with him, stroking his wet hair with my fingers. "That was nice," I admitted, smiling at him. "Now go away." "No time," he said. Settling back against the wall, he stretched out his arms, encircling my shoulders with one and Freda's with the other. "The bride and groom have left the house, and we must discuss what we're going to do tomorrow. Do it quick, or we'll miss the mating ceremony." I could see Freda's hand stroking Matise's thigh beneath the water. "Tomorrow," she announced, waving her gla.s.s high in the air, "we shall be free! We'll run, we'll dance, we'll commit all kinds of excesses, and when we are done..." She glanced at me across the top of her gla.s.s, eyes twinkling. "Brianna and I are going to get on a train and go to the land of the humans, where we will do all those lovely things all over again!" "Just make certain you do them outside of Europe," Matise counseled sternly. "Papa says no Devoncroix is to be in the path of human weapons and that means you, Bri. Now, as for the problem at hand, I thought we could do it like this." He looked at me. "They will call the names alphabetically, so Freda is already behind you in line. All I have to do is make sure I am too, so that when they call your name, each of us will still be in human form-" I understood. The Ascension Ceremony, like most of our rituals, was simple and straightforward: one by one we would be called forward in human form, our accomplishments recited, our intentions declared, our maturity claimed-and we would Change. A dozen times before, Freda and Matise had covered for me in similar situations; we had our routine down so patly we hardly needed to discuss it. But Matise wanted to make certain I was protected from humiliation on this, the most important day of my life. I loved him for it, and for a moment was fairly bursting with the need to tell him my secret, to tell them both they needn't worry about me any longer. I lay my fingers across his mouth, stopping his words. "I have taken care of it," I a.s.sured him. He could hear my heart speeding-they both could-and smell my excitement, and puzzlement registered in his eyes, and in Freda's. Matise said, "Bri, don't do anything stupid. You can't miss your own Ascension Ceremony-you'll never forgive yourself." "If you're afraid we might not be able to cover for you," Freda put in, "let's talk to your papa. He's the leader of the whole pack, he could-" "No, there's no need," Matise said impatiently. "We'll create a distraction, you and I-" "No need." I caught Matise's hand, and Freda's, and held them each tight, my certainty so strong it practically glowed through my skin. "Matise, no need. I don't have to hide any longer. I can Change!" Confusion shadowed Freda's eyes and wonder slowly lit Matise's. "Bri-do you mean it? When? How-" But I held up a hand to silence him, c.o.c.king my head to listen. "Wait-they're here. We're going to miss the mating!" We scrambled out of the pool and hurried toward the meadow. Once Freda caught my arm and whispered, "Bri, what do you mean, you can Change?" But I shushed her and wove my way through the crowd toward a place in the front. By the time we gained a good vantage point, the ritual had almost reached its pinnacle. The bride and groom stood naked in the center of a wide circle formed by the pack, hands upraised, fingertips almost touching. The thrill of excitement that resonated through the pack was like an electric buzz, amplified by voices joined in song, a slow, wild, sweet melody in a minor key that started out as soft as whispering leaves but grew louder and stronger until it reflected the beat of a thousand hearts before it, in and of its own power, created a wave of sound so sure, so thrilling, that it buoyed the couple toward their Pa.s.sion and shook the depths of desire within each and every werewolf present. I could feel it in my bones, swelling in my chest, hot and wondrous: love, need, pleasure, flowing through and around me as it did through every werewolf present; all of us one, all of us powerful. I grasped Freda's hand and Matise's, and felt their return grips hard enough to crush the bones. Ah, the smell of them. The warm thrill of their blood pulsing my ears, the tingle of their electric power in my skin, their nearness, their warmth. The chorus of sound reached a crescendo and hung suspended in the air, swirling and resounding and gathering power for an endless moment, and then the bride tossed back her head and stretched forth on her toes and leapt into her Pa.s.sion in a burst of color and light and tangy hot perfume. In less than a heartbeat, before the crackle of her transformation had faded from the air, her intended joined her and the flare of light was so bright it hurt the eyes. We held our collective breath while the heat rose among us, desire trembled within us and the rich drugging scent of Pa.s.sion seeped into our pores. The female sprang a few steps away from her husband with an inviting, flirtatious look over her shoulder and the male captured her almost instantly, sinking his teeth into her neck, holding her with his forelegs. She gave a great howl of triumph that reverberated through our souls as he mounted her, p.e.n.i.s engorged and unsheathed, and penetrated her with a single thrust. A great cry of joy and celebration went through the crowd as we smelled the gush of hot s.e.m.e.n, and all around me werewolves began to Change, surrendering to the magic of the moment, the glory of life, the demand of pa.s.sion. I could feel Matise's fingers tightly wound around mine and his thigh pressed against my hip, and smell his heat, hear his excitement. Freda was on my other side, her hand clasped around mine her breast soft against my arm, her heart pounding in my ears. The breeze, sweeping across my skin, dried the water that lingered there and felt like a thousand biting ants. Every part of me ached: joints, tendons, cartilage, fibers, neurons, cells. I trembled. I tasted my own sweat. The air was singed with Pa.s.sion, my ears throbbed with a thousand heartbeats, my eyes burned and blurred. My belly cramped with desire. I could taste it on my tongue. I was weak with it, dizzy, as my senses were infused with the coming Pa.s.sion of my companions. Matise's hand slipped out of my grip as he spun away from me, caught up in rapture, and then even Freda was gone. I was drunk with the residue of all those Changing around me, vaguely aware of the familiar scents of the transformations of those I loved best. Dizzily I watched as they met each other in wolf form, did a playful little dance of recognition, then ran off together, laughing, celebrating with the others. My ears were full of thunder and the landscape was littered with color and movement as I staggered toward the shelter of a broad tree and sank to the ground behind it, weak, shaking, wet-faced. I tasted tears now, but they were tears of wonder and joy. I had felt the beginning of the Pa.s.sion. I had. My time was coming. And it would be soon. XVIII The ascension ceremony was held the next day, and traditionally began at sunset. By the time all the speeches were made and all the welcomes given, dusk would have fallen, and the glow of a hundred Pa.s.sions, one after another, would make a spectacular display upon the twilight landscape. There then would follow a pack run through the moonlight, and for the first time we would run as full-fledged members of the pack, adults alongside adults, claiming our place. Excitement crackled through the corridors of Palais Devoncroix like ground lightning, for nothing is more contagious than the exuberance of youth. The day was spent going from feast to feast with our families, being teased and toasted and required to suffer all manner of well-meant advice. I had by this time two more brothers and three sisters, and as part of the ritual, Matise and I were each required to pledge our loyalty to them with a kiss. Late in the afternoon we were sent back to our rooms to bathe and brush our hair until it gleamed and perfume our bodies and prepare our minds for the solemnity of the occasion to come. Maman came to me in private not long after I had stepped from my bath. Freda, with whom I had chosen to share the room, was polishing her hair with silk scarves in the sunny western window embrasure, and I could hear the tiny crinkling sounds her hair made as it was charged with static electricity from the silk and the sun. Freda got to her feet immediately when Maman entered, but Maman waved her down again. "A word alone with my daughter, if you don't mind, my dear," she said. Had she said "private," that would have been Freda's command to leave the room and put as much distance as she could between us so that none of our words could be overheard. As it was, however, the polite thing for Freda to do was to turn her back and pretend not to hear. It's such a silly thing, really, for werewolves to try to keep secrets. Maman took my hands and stepped back an arm's length from me, smiling as she looked over my form. "What a beautiful young female you've grown to be, Brianna. All that red hair, such a lovely figure. You bring joy to your father's heart and mine every time we look at you." I grinned back at her. "I agree. I am quite striking to look at. But I owe you and Papa the thanks for that." She laughed and tugged at my hands, bringing me to sit with her on the brocade divan adjacent to where she stood. She gazed gently into my eyes and filled me with contentment, my mother, symbol of all that was good and strong and correct, this perfect female, this quintessential werewolf. She had skin of porcelain and eyes of crystal and a pale rich abundance of hair that tumbled over her shoulders and caressed her hips. She smelled of sunshine and flowers and things that were good to eat; sometimes just inhaling her scent could make me weak with adoration. She said, "We are so very proud of you, Brianna. Your voice, your spirit, your accomplishments at your studies... you have a magnificent career ahead of you, and what you may yet mean to the pack only history can tell." I wanted to acknowledge her faith in me, but she held up a finger for silence. Now a rather odd intensity came into her eyes, as though she were looking inside me for something she could not quite find. "You came into my life at a time when I had all but lost hope," she said, "and you brought healing to the heart of your papa, which I had thought was broken forever. You gave us back our lives, Brianna, my darling girl, and for that you will always have the most special place here." She pressed the area just below her left breast, smiling at me. "And because of that, because you asked it, we have granted your request and altered the ceremony slightly, so that all the names will be called before yours, and everyone will have had a chance to Change. When your name is called, stand forward proudly and recite your designation, then simply walk back and stand with your family, who will protect you. No one will think the less of you, and the ceremony will not be disrupted." I lowered my eyes. "They will think the less of me," I said softly. She was silent for a moment. I could feel her pain, and thought for the first time how humiliating it must be for her and for Papa, leaders of the pack, to be parents of a child afflicted with my condition. Stunted, incomplete. She said, "Brianna, you are a clever girl to have avoided this moment for so long, but you cannot deceive the pack-or yourself- forever. You are not the first to suffer this affliction and you won't be the last. Very often what is lacking in one area will be compensated for in another-your extraordinary eyesight, for example, is no doubt related to your inability to Change. You must never think of yourself as less of a werewolf because of it. In many ways you are more." I wanted to jerk my hands back and stalk away from her plat.i.tudes; I wanted to cry out that she knew nothing about it, nothing. But I held my tongue. Today I was an adult. Today I would begin to act like one. "I don't want to shame you, Maman. Or Papa." She cupped my face tenderly with her hand and stroked my cheek with her thumb. "You could never do that." She let her hand fall away from my face, and lowered her eyes briefly. "Long ago I wanted to tell you... well, it doesn't matter now. Your papa was right, and you have grown up to be everything we hoped for and more." Then she kissed me, and gave me a smile that adored and strengthened. "Destiny is in your eyes, my darling. You will change the world." And I believed her. I honestly did. Freda waited until my mother's footsteps had faded through the corridors, until we both had to strain to pick up the sound of her voice engaged in another conversation up a set of stairs and a half-dozen rooms away. Then she flew from her sunny window seat and abandoned all pretense of propriety as she descended on me. "What are you plotting?" she demanded in a whisper. "First you told your brother that you can Change, that you're going to Change, and now your mother-" I pressed my fingers to her lips until I was sure she would be silent, then cautiously left her to scramble beneath my mattress for the book, which I presented to her triumphantly. She glanced at the cover. "You stole this from the science library!" "I did not! I borrowed it." I sat down beside her, one foot tucked under me, and quickly began to flip the pages. "It's that text on anthropomorphism you told me about. This physiologist Zelder did a whole research project on it, and look-this is what he says." I found the place with my finger. " '... the ages between thirteen and fifteen appearing to be the time in which the young werewolf is particularly susceptible to the pheromones given off by another's Change... evidence that repeated exposure to those pheromones can cause a buildup in the bloodstream and initiate a Change where none was possible before...' He even talks about the power of places," I told her excitedly, closing the book, "places where thousands of Changes have occurred over a long period of time- places like this! Like the mating grounds, and the ceremonial pavilion where we'll be tonight!" Freda looked troubled. "I've read this book, Brianna, and it's not considered-" I shook my head impatiently. "You don't understand! It's working-I felt it the moment I set foot here, and every moment since. And I was remembering, the first time I almost Changed, it was in that ancient circle, where we could still smell the Pa.s.sion of the Old Ones-and then yesterday, at the mating ceremony, didn't you notice? I was almost there, I could have Changed, but I held back, because tonight, after everyone has Changed before me, after the buildup of all the pheromones since I've been here-then it will happen for me! It will be..." I could hardly find the word in my excitement and my certainty. "Effortless!" Freda still looked unhappy. "Brianna, your mother was right. There's no shame in it if you just walk away. But if you step forward into the circle of the others-" "That's exactly what I'm going to do!" I a.s.sured her. "But you haven't ever Changed," she insisted. "What if-" I just laughed at her. "Freda, you didn't really think I was going to live my life like this forever, did you? I've been brave and I've been clever and I've been quiet. But it's my time now!" "You can't just command something like that!" I tossed her a look over my shoulder as I went to get dressed. "Watch me!"

I will never forget the magic of that misty evening as twilight faded from pink and gold to dusky blue. There were storm clouds in the distance, swollen gray and thunder blue, but that only added to the power of the night and the color of the sunset. The gra.s.s was spongy with dew beneath our feet and a soft breeze rose up from the river. I could taste the faint ozone on the air, but whether it was from the approaching storm or my own excitement I could not be sure. All the pack were gathered beneath the arch-roofed pavilion, in human form and in their most formal Changing robes, solemnly occupying the tiered benches that encircled the pavilion according to status, with the highest ranked at the top. We, the students, filed out in a single row to a stately canon performed by strings and a chorus. We wore white gowns of gauzy muslin with deep cowl collars and long full sleeves that hid our hands, feet bare and hair loose and unadorned, the shape of our strong young bodies beautifully outlined beneath the veil of gauze. The arena was lit only by footlights which grew subtly stronger as the dusk deepened, but which never grew so harsh as to dispel the mystical aura of soft fogs and yellow glows. The students were seated in a semicircle at the eastern curve of the pavilion as the chorus came to an end, and during the break in formality caused by the rustling of skirts and the finding of seats, Matise, who was beside me in line, grabbed my arm. "Have you lost your senses?" he hissed in my ear. "Freda told me you've never Changed at all and you're planning to try it tonight!" I pinched his leg hard enough to leave a bruise but did not alter the serenity of my expression by a fraction. His fingers tightened on my arm, and that did hurt. "Don't do it, Bri," he warned, his voice low. I suddenly realized my folly in not having taken Matise into my confidence sooner, as a dozen possible ways he could spoil my plan flashed through my head all at once. I turned to him, my expression quick with panic, and begged, "Matise, don't stop me, please! Don't you see-if not tonight, when? When in my whole life?" I saw the struggle in his eyes: his own stubborn reason warring with sympathy for me, understanding of me, absolute commitment to me... and the desperation he could smell from me. He let go of my arm and muttered, "I couldn't if I wanted to." All the pack rose to their feet in a howl of approval as my mother walked to the center dais to open the ceremonies. She looked exquisite in her favorite blue, and she gave a beautiful speech about the beginning of life and the rallying of the pack toward a new tomorrow. The smell of the crowd grew sweet with adoration of her. When she was finished and the roar of the a.s.sembly died down, my papa strode onto the dais, all power and majesty, and kissed Maman's hand and escorted her to the marble throne chair on the east side of the dais. Then he addressed the pack. He was a commanding speaker and could hold a crowd. His eyes flashed like blue lightning at times and the thunder that rolled in the distance was to great effect. I recall that when he spoke of sending his children "into a world we have made and we will control through peace and cooperation," all eyes turned to Matise and me, and I was as proud as if I myself had created that world. He talked about the conflicts raging in Europe, and about the necessity of werewolves "disa.s.sociating themselves from the petty politics of humans"-at which point I glanced at Freda, wondering if she would be insulted, but she was looking at me and hardly seemed interested in Papa's speech at all. Then he went on to relate how this would be our last pack gathering in Lyons, and that the new pack headquarters in Alaska would be officially dedicated in the spring. He spoke of the technology that would enable us to rule the world from a place even so far away as Alaska, of the miracles that awaited us all if we joined together and how very, very rich the humans were going to make us. By the time he had finished, the audience was on its feet, cheering and shouting. When the speeches were over, there was the Naming. As the name of each and every living family member of each and every student was recited and recognized, my tension mounted, as palpable as the humidity that thickened the air. The list was endless. Then came other speeches, from our teachers and counselors and supervisors. Endless. Matise and Freda kept glancing at me with poorly disguised curiosity. I ignored them. Finally, it was our time. The sky was dark blue by now and rimmed with purple in the rolling clouds. Occasionally a flash of silent lightning etched a thunderhead in fluorescent lavender, and when my papa stepped up to the podium again, a warm gust of wind billowed his hair and molded his robe close to his body for a moment. He lifted his arms to the sky and announced exuberantly, "A good night for a pack run, my children!" A rumble of thunder seemed to echo his words and everyone laughed and cheered. Oh, it was magical. Even the atmosphere of the earth was charged with expectation on my behalf. Then Papa turned to the students and, stretching out his hands to us in a silent command to rise, said, "As it was in the time that ended darkness, so it is today. You enter into your full maturity responsible for yourselves, your family and your pack. Yet since the time of the good Queen Eudora we have embraced another responsibility, with the full and clear understanding that the world is our pack, and we upon it merely caretakers. You are the children of tomorrow. Do you make this vow of your own free will?" As one, we lifted our voices to reply, "I take this vow of my own free will." Papa commanded, "Speak it, then." And so, with our faces turned east and the warm, sharp-tasting winds of the coming storm brushing them, we took Eudora's Vow, and we became full-fledged members of the pack. Then there remained only the individual introductions to the pack, and with the same great ponderousness with which time had seemed to move before this point, it now speeded up crazily; too soon, too soon, and the excitement was making me nauseated. One by one they went before me: "I am Ca.s.sandra D'Eauville and I am a master of the visual arts." She stepped free of her gauzy robe and executed a stylish Change. "I am Marius Arquette, and I am a master of engineering." He swept off his robe and Changed with a flourish, and the next in line hurried forth to face the pack. "I am Lindser Meechaum and I am a master of gastronomic science." "I am Adelaine Rosche and I am a master of theoretical mathematics..." "... master of management and craft..." "... master of dance..." "... of drama..." "... of chemistry..." "... of physics..." "... of practical art..." Finally it was: "I am Freda Fasburg, and I am a master of physiology." And at last Matise, who by this time was as feverish as I was from the scent of the hundred Changes and the crescendo of murmuring heartbeats from the crowd and the taste of electricity-meteorological and physical-in the air. Nonetheless, he remembered to squeeze my fingers, quick and hard, before he too stepped forth to face the pack and declared in a clear strong voice, "I am Matise Devoncroix, and I am a master of language." He stripped out of his robe and tossed it into the air-it really was magnificent-and before it settled to the ground again he had Changed and come down on all fours. And I was alone. This is how it was, how it is burned upon my brain in scent and sound and magnificent color: the milling crowd of just-changed wolves, nipping and snapping at one another in excitement, restless and eager, waiting for the leader of the pack to give the signal that would free them to the night; the tiered benches filled with others waiting to Change, anxious to Change, their heartbeats a cacophonous symphony of antic.i.p.ation and their scent like hot wine, weighing down the air; my parents upon the dais with their hands linked and their eyes glowing blue fire and their chests swelling with pride and pleasure as they looked out upon their bounty. In the distance thunder rolled and a magnificent fork of lightning touched the far horizon and cast a cerulean glow across the sky. I heard one fat raindrop strike the clay-tiled roof, and then another. Zephyrs of warm wind chased my skirt and tickled my ankles and brought the taste of wet earth and electric charges to my tongue... and werewolf, everywhere, in shades of rose and wine, cinnamon and oak, orange and moss and vanilla and sandalwood and sea spray and hot musk, werewolf power, werewolf glory. I could feel it. I could taste it. I stepped forward and I said loudly, "I am Brianna Devoncroix, a master of music." In a single motion I loosed the ties of my robe, twirled it aside and spun around on my toes, arms stretched high, head thrown back, reaching for the Pa.s.sion, inhaling it into my lungs, tasting it rich and solid on the back of my tongue. Trembling with it. Feeling it. Thunder crashed, loud and hard. Electricity snapped in the air around me. Muscles ached, dizziness swirled, I cried out with ecstasy, for I was on the verge, the Pa.s.sion was mine to claim... but just as it had done so many times before, it eluded me. I am not quite sure when I became aware of this. Something changed around me. The sound of the crowd, the smell of the air. I heard a shout, and felt a sharp pain in my leg. I looked down and saw a welt rising on my thigh. Someone from the crowd had thrown a stone at me. I heard the growling behind me and turned quickly. My cla.s.smates were staring at me, heads low, teeth bared, gazes filled with contempt. I took a stumbling step backward, suddenly cold, suddenly weak, suddenly vulnerable. But when I turned around, the spectators, many still in human form, were pouring out of the tiered benches, fists raised at me, voices angry and jeering. I had failed. And in so doing I had mocked them, I had humiliated them, I had insulted what we were. I had separated myself from them. I stood alone, brazen and different, and I must be cast out. I heard my mother call my name and somewhere in the crowd, almost drowned out by the snarls and growls of the others, I heard Matise's wolf-voice. Frantically I looked for a break in the throng, a way to reach my parents or my aunts. I started to run. All still might have been well had I escaped, had I hidden myself until they forgot me or had I reached the shelter of a family member who was still willing to protect me. But my scent was sheer terror, my mind was still cloudy and my muscles were weak from my attempt at the Pa.s.sion, and as I made it to the edge of the covered pavilion my foot slipped on the wet gra.s.s and I fell. The pack's instinct toward a fallen, frightened adversary is to attack. And that was what I was to them then: an adversary. Something to be disposed of, conquered, triumphed over. They rushed me all at once. I can write no more of the details of that night. I took a chance and I lost, and I now must pay the price. I knew my life with the pack was over when I looked up and saw my parents watching it all with a cool dispa.s.sion, holding the arms of my brother who fought to rescue me.

Matise I cannot let the telling end there. Perhaps for Brianna it was indeed over, but for me the tragedy was just beginning. The rest of that night is my story, my horror, my shame. My memories of the first few moments of chaos are not very clear. Snapping teeth and glinting eyes, sharp claws, fur-sheathed muscles wrestling and writhing in their eagerness to get to her. The taste of dirt in my mouth as I stumbled in my urgency to reach her. The smell of blood, the smell of war.

I could see Brianna on the ground, her arm caught between a pair of powerful jaws which shook her like a rag doll. When he let her go for a better grip, she managed to crawl a few feet away but was slammed to the ground again, facedown in the mud. She tried to cry out but choked; she managed only to cover her head and face with her arms before the next a.s.sault. And then I did a shameful thing. In my confusion, in my anxiety, tossed this way and that by my own body's immature reaction to the pheromones of a hundred different Changes, I myself Changed into human form. I tried to reach her, but was quickly driven back. I called out for her and heard her sob my name. I saw Freda, still in wolf form, trying to break through the crowd. I shouted to her. She looked around for me and was challenged by a young female who took exception to her intention. A brief, vicious skirmish ensued, with Freda the victor. She bared her teeth to another challenger and fought her way forward. I struck out against muscled fur and sharp teeth with my bare hands, trying to get to Brianna. Suddenly my arms were caught from behind and held strongly. My father said firmly, "Leave it be, Matise. This is not your fight." I gave him one incredulous look and began to struggle furiously. "Let me go! Look at what they're doing to her!" My mother said very calmly, standing beside me, "They won't kill her." I stared at her in disbelief, but her features were cool and composed. Desperately I sought out Brianna, and what I saw sickened me. They had her on the ground, snapping and snarling, darting at her occasionally with nipping teeth that tore her skin or a disciplinary shake that bruised her bones. Her hair was matted with mud; rain and tears streaked her face. And as I watched, one arrogant young wolf pushed his way forward and urinated on her face. I cried, "How can you let them do that?" I tried to pull my arms away. "Why don't you stop them?" My father said, "Brianna is an adult today. She must be responsible for the course she chooses." And my mother said sternly, "You do her no favors by fighting this battle for her, Matise. Leave it be." Another wolf sidled up and marked her with the sign of his contempt, and they all were laughing, mocking her, tossing her about in sport. Skirmishes broke out among the pack as the level of excitement grew. My mother pa.s.sed a concerned look to my father. At some point, I realized, he had released my arms. Now the expression on his face as he observed the travesty being executed before him was simple disappointment. "It is enough," he said. He left me, and went to the Calling Rock. He cast aside his robe and lifted his arms to the sky and in a flash of thunder and purple lightning he called down the Pa.s.sion; in almost a twin motion, my mother followed. Their scent was a powerful drug that perfumed the night, that was carried on the thunder and sizzled in the rain. I felt it in my blood and crawling on my skin, urgency and need. The pack was restless, anxious. Brianna was all but forgotten as they paced and milled and surged close to their leader. I managed, with an effort, to tear my attention from the power of my father and searched for Brianna. I was able to find her only because Freda, in defiance of everything that was proper, had changed to human form. Freda was bleeding from injuries she had sustained in battle, but the pack was little interested in her. She knelt down to lift Brianna out of the mud just as my father put out the call to run. Oh, it is a magnificent thing, that call. It is a single note that stretches into the sky, gathers the force of the night and returns to earth bursting into a thousand fragments of light. It pierces the soul, it boils the blood, it draws the nature of every werewolf within hearing distance as inexorably as the moon draws the tide. All around me, voices were raised in answer. My hair stood on end, my skin ached, my soul was on fire. The pack called. I needed to answer it. Frantically I cast my eyes back to Brianna. Freda was holding her, and Brianna's arms circled her friend's neck weakly. The rain was washing away the mud and urine that stained her skin. She did not look at me. I could not go to her. The call of the pack was maddening, intoxicating. It lifted me, it buoyed me, it sucked me in. I looked at Brianna... and I turned away. Feverishly, wildly, helplessly, I spun into the Pa.s.sion. I left my sister behind, and answered the call of the pack. XXI Brianna had sustained a broken wrist, a dislocated shoulder, two cracked ribs and numerous contusions both inside and out, but for all the pain, not a single drop of my blood had been spilled. Had I put up a fight it might have been worse, but they were growing bored with me by the time Papa had transformed and called the pack to run. My injuries healed within a week-at least those you could see. The real damage was not to my body, and the wounds deep inside would never heal. When my parents entered my room I closed my eyes. Matise came again and again, and I pretended to be asleep. He knew I was not. I could hear the voices throughout the Palais as, one by one, the members of the pack took their leave. "What a disappointment for you. But she does have a lovely voice..." "What a great pity. Such a beautiful human form, those fine Devoncroix genes wasted..." "Well, of course this proves it. If she didn't Change during the worst of it, there really is no hope for her..." "You mustn't despair. So many of them live long and perfectly happy lives..." And some of them ended up in cages, mad things captured by humans and put on display. No one said that. No one dared utter that truth.

Freda, who had sustained a nasty bite on her arm trying to defend me, was the only one I could bear to face. She moved into the sickroom with me, and took my meals left at the door and brought them to me, and washed me and brushed my hair and changed my linens. But even she said, "Brianna, try not to hate your parents. Don't you see if they had intervened to save you, they would have lost the respect of the entire pack! You issued a challenge by-by doing what you did, and it was no one's fault but your own. They couldn't help you!" I replied, without very much emotion at all, "I don't hate them. But I don't think I can ever forgive them either." She said, a little uncertainly, "There was another reason that they didn't stop it. As you know, we all instinctively revert to wolf form when we're in pain. I think they were hoping that the shock, or perhaps the injury, might trigger... that you might..." I understood then the murmured words If she didn't Change during the worst of it, there really is no hope for her. I almost smiled, although even irony required somewhat more effort for recognition than it was worth. "That I might Change before I was killed?" She dropped her eyes, a sigh barely repressed, and said nothing. I glanced around the room, all gold ormolu and frescoed ceilings, silk brocade and intricately carved marble. I gazed beyond, through the tall, open windows, toward the park and the fountains, the bathing pools and the formal gardens; werewolves at play, bounding across the lawn and splashing in the fountains, strolling the gardens in wolf and in human form, nuzzling one another, lying beside one another in peaceful contentment. And I said slowly, only now beginning to understand it was true, "I don't belong here." I looked back at Freda, my brows knit slightly in puzzlement- not at the truth, but that it had taken me so long to realize it. "I don't think I ever did." I left Palais Devoncroix that night with nothing except the clothing I wore. I simply walked out of my room, across the garden, out of the gate. I didn't look back. The night was bright with the light of a hundred million stars and a crescent moon shone yellow just above the tree line. I could hear the movement of the river chirrup of frogs and the scuttle and rustle of the insects that made their home behind the bark of a tree. I could hear the murmur of voices at Palais Devoncroix, the sighs of lovers as they turned one another in bed... and Matise. He stood downwind of me, so that I actually heard the beat his heart, the rustle of his clothing, before I caught his scent turned, scanning the shadows and silhouettes around me, and discovered him leaning against a plane tree some two dozen meters to the west, arms and ankles crossed, waiting for me. His shirt was unb.u.t.toned and looked as though it had been pulled on as an afterthought; his feet were bare, his hair was loose He was scowling. I walked up to him. I didn't want to, but I knew if I turned away he would only follow. "Did Freda tell you?"

"She didn't have to. What kind of new foolishness is this? What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm leaving," I told him. "Without me?"

My throat constricted unexpectedly. "Because of you," I said hoa.r.s.ely. I looked him full in the eye and drew a breath. "Matise," I said, "I'm leaving the pack."

I saw his thoughts as clearly as if they had been my own. He wanted to pretend not to believe me, but he knew that would only be a waste of time. He wanted it not to be true, but he knew it was. He wanted to reason with me, cajole me, threaten me, ridicule me; he wanted me to take the words back. But he couldn't.

And he was horrified.

On a quick rush of breath he said, "Bri, don't do this." I was already shaking my head. "It's done." Silence. Pounding hearts. A frantic flickering of desperate thoughts, and his eyes reflecting that desperation. He knew me too well. There was nothing he could do.

"Bri, think about this. Will you just take a minute and think about this?"

You're the firstborn daughter of the leaders of the pack-you can't just leave!"

"They have already left me, haven't they?" I couldn't have made the words sound bitter even if I had wanted to. I hadn't the energy. "All of them. This is what we do, Matise-we cast out the misfits, the malcontents,