A Wolf of Her Own (8 page)

Back at the house, Gemma let the dogs into their pen. Rissa greeted her offspring enthusiastically, like a young dog despite having trouble walking properly. Gemma studied her worriedly and wondered if she would have to call a vet for her.

She filled their bowls with fresh water and then led Kieran into the house through the small porch at the back that opened to the kitchen. They took their muddy boots and coats off and she offered Kieran a pair of Tom’s slippers and donned her own as well. They would help ward off the coldness of the stone floor.

She filled a kettle and put it on the stove to boil. Tom didn’t have an electric kettle, but at least they had a gas stove instead of the old coal burner from her childhood. Her father had got them one when he installed the electricity and running water in the 1940s. This wasn’t the same stove—Tom had replaced it at some point—but it was still old.

Everything in the kitchen was old, like it had always been. The few modern additions stood out, like the brand new fridge and freezer. The previous units hadn’t been terribly old either, not by this kitchen’s standards, but they didn’t make them like they used to, as Tom had rued over the phone when he told her about the purchase.

The surface of the limestone floor was worn soft after centuries of use. The walls were whitewashed, a new layer added over the old one periodically. A trestle table stood in the middle of the room, its surface polished white from age, with long benches on either side. Two placemats sat opposite to one another—the same two that Gemma had purchased before she moved away. The deep enamel sink was from the sixties, the plumbing redone in the seventies. Two freestanding cupboards from the time before her birth were filled with china she had chosen and purchased from a mail-order company in the eighties. She had got so fed up with the old set she had carried everything to the backyard and broken every piece one by one in a satisfying fit of anger.

Tom didn’t speak to her for a week.

The once cheerfully yellow curtains were those she had selected too, though she couldn’t remember when that had been. They had always been there.

"This is a nice kitchen."

"Hmph."

He lifted an amused brow. "I take it you disagree?"

"I just don’t understand the need Tom has to preserve everything. I know vampires have a tendency to be conservative and live in the past, but he’s worse than most." He took after Father, who had needed everything to be the way it had been before Mother died.

"I was under the impression that vampires are experts in adjusting to changing times."

Gemma had to think about it. "I guess we must be, at least outwardly, so that we don’t draw attention to ourselves. I know I’ve tried my best." An uphill struggle all the way.

The kettle whistled and she got up to prepare the tea. She set the table for two with biscuits on a plate too, having found them in a jar on the side table. Like that was a surprise. That jar had always contained biscuits. The only surprise was that Tom had switched the brand.

"I’ve been thinking about what the vampires told us," Kieran said, when she had poured them both a cup. She gave him a questioning look. "About their enemy being behind this. They must mean humans."

"Why would humans want to start a war between vampires and shifters?"

"Isn’t it self-evident? Humans have always hated us and there’s been a hardening of attitudes lately. Remember the demonstrations last autumn?"

"But why would they come here? Humans don’t know about the Crimson Circle."

He shrugged. "It’s an old organisation. Many people know about it."

The idea that humans would deliberately cause ill-will between the two-natured made her uncomfortable. "Haven’t they learned anything from the last time?"

Kieran sneered. "There is no last time from their point of view. They’re so short-lived that they don’t remember the Sentient War or how much damage it caused. It’s not like they teach that in human schools."

"I guess it would serve extremists to get us fighting amongst ourselves. We’d do the dirty work for them."

"Exactly. And I don’t think they’ll stop until they succeed."

"Well, fudge."

Kieran burst out laughing, easing the atmosphere. "No matter how many times I hear you say that, it still delights me."

"What, fudge?"

"It’s such a wonderful euphemism."

Gemma shrugged. "Mother really abhorred foul language, and not only in women. I don’t think Tom swears much to this day. You’re the first one to mention it though."

He smiled. "I’m not terribly foulmouthed, but I need to release steam every once in a while. A good swear word helps."

"Yeah, well, with vampires it’s imperative not to let the steam build in the first place."

"What, not at all? Didn’t feel like that earlier with the warriors."

"They weren’t angry. You were." The warriors had been brutally effective, but barely affected by the fight.

He paused. "That’s true. I guess it’s that same difference with our energies. Yours is cool and ours is hot." If only it were that simple. But she couldn’t tell him that without disclosing the best kept secret vampires had: the Rider. Few knew that their second nature wasn’t magic but a sentient being like with other two-natureds’, and vampires liked to keep things that way. "I wonder what excuse humans use."

"Well, my two housemates have no compunctions about swearing. But at work everyone behaves civilised."

"You share a house with humans?" He sounded astounded.

"Yes. I wouldn’t want to live with other vampires, and shifters prefer to keep among themselves. What choice do I have? It’s frightfully expensive living in London."

"Many people pay good money to live in Epsom so they don’t have to live in London," he noted, amused. "I commute."

She shuddered. "I was stuck here for a century before I won the sun. That was enough of this place, thank you very much."

"So what’s it like, living with humans?"

"Easy. I don’t get sudden urges to drain them dry," she said, amused. "But it can get really exhausting, too, pretending to be human."

He recoiled. "You’re in hiding?"

His strong reaction to such an innocent remark baffled her. "Many two-natured are in hiding." Most of them were, in fact, at least to some people.

"Only the cowards."

"I am not a coward!"

"Exactly."

His assessment of her felt good, but she wasn’t about to give in. "Sometimes you have to keep things secret from humans. It’s for their own good."

"You should think of what’s good for you."

"This is good for me!" She was losing her temper, never a good thing, but especially perilous today when her Rider had been close to the surface the whole day. "And you’re the one to talk. You didn’t want to tell humans that wolves killed the sheep."

He closed down so fast, his energy retreating, that she staggered for the loss. "I have my clan to protect."

"Why would humans care if wolf-shifters kill vampires’ sheep?"

"Tell that to my brother." His anger was mixed with grief now.

"What happened to him?"

"You mean you don’t know?" he asked, genuinely surprised.

"How should I know about your brother? I’ve told you I’ve not associated with the clan much, apart from my wolf friend. And he went away when I was eight, so that’s 120 years ago."

His face hardened. "Humans killed my brother, Colm. Shot him when he was in wolf form as vigilante justice after some sheep were killed."

Her heart melted for him. "I’m so sorry to hear that." She reached over the table and put her hand on the fist he was squeezing tightly to ward off the grief. "When was it?"

He sighed. Then he looked her directly in the eyes. "About 120 years ago."

Shock made her bones go liquid. Her control slackened and the Rider surged to the surface, forcing her to shut down completely. She closed her eyes tightly, but not before she had a brief glimpse of the world through alien eyes.

"I’m sorry, but you have to leave now."

Kieran was back at the manor before he was suitably calmed down, the long walk almost not enough to let out his spleen. The day had been straining as it was, rubbing his emotions raw. He hadn’t thought of Colm this much in ages, but the memories and emotions his death caused were rushing back.

He was sorry to have caused Gemma such a shock, but why had she driven him out? It was obvious Colm had been her wolf friend, and his death news for her, kept from a little girl on purpose no doubt. They could have grieved together. He wanted to be there for her, to console her. That she wouldn’t allow him made him feel restless, like he had unfinished business to do.

His grief for Colm had a bittersweet taste to it. It was wonderful that Colm had been her protector, but it upset him, too, that he had kept it a secret from his family. He would have wanted to know Gemma when they were children. He wished he could have been there for her. That he had been only ten at the time was irrelevant. He had an overwhelming need to keep her safe, the feeling more baffling because it felt so natural.

He had always been protective, a trait he had learned or inherited from Colm. Older by decades than Kieran and Aidan, he had always kept them safe. In a way, losing the sense of safety his brother had brought to his life had affected him worse than knowing it had been humans who had killed him. But he had needed someone to blame.

He had thought he was over his resentment. He worked with humans every day. But learning that Gemma was in hiding—closeted, humans would say—angered him. Such a strong, beautiful woman shouldn’t have to hide what she was from anyone. He had never hidden his true nature, having been too stubborn for it, hating humans too much to pretend to be one of them.

But Gemma, too, had lost her protector when Colm died, and she’d had no one to replace him with. If Tom and her father had been there for her, she wouldn’t have needed Colm in the first place. She used to hide in the forest from her mother, so perhaps hiding was a natural reaction for her still. He shouldn’t judge too hard.

He entered the manor through the kitchen door and was instantly met with Vincent, who shot up from the stairs where he had been sitting. "Where have you been the whole day?" the boy demanded with a hurt look on his speckled face. He was still wearing his school uniform, even though school had ended hours ago. "I’ve been waiting for you."

Kieran’s heart warmed in delight. Vince was such a great boy. His brother was a lucky man to have a son like him. "Why?"

"No one believes that I bested everyone by being clever."

Kieran laughed. "And you need me to verify it. Very well. But we must get you home first." He headed back out, herding Vince before him.

Aidan lived with his wife and son in the same cottage on the other side of the estate that had been Kieran’s childhood home. Vincent chattered ceaselessly the entire walk there, about school, his friends, and football, drawing Kieran’s attention to him in a welcome respite from the day’s worries.

Vince’s mother, Sarah, had dinner ready when they arrived and the boy was sent to change his clothes and wash his hands with a good-natured scolding.

"Will you stay for dinner too?" Aidan asked.

Kieran was an often-seen visitor at his brother’s table and he was tempted to accept the invitation. With Colm so strong in his mind, he would have loved to stay with his family, but he shook his head. "No. I’m sorry, I have matters to discuss with Jamie that can’t wait."

Aidan gave him a stern look. "About the sheep killers?"

Aidan was one of the soldiers responsible for clan safety, so Kieran wasn’t surprised he knew about it. "Yes."

"You’ve learned something new?"

"The Crimson Circle showed up on the Byrd farm. Their sheep had been killed by the same wolves too."

"That’s bad. I’d better see if we can amp up security."

Vince descended the stairs making an awful racket. "You promised to tell everyone I won in cleverness," he reminded his uncle.

"Absolutely you did. But in stealth you have a few things to learn still. A herd of elephants could come down the stairs with less noise."

The boy grinned. "I was in a hurry." Then he threw himself at Kieran and gave him a fierce hug. "I promise to track you properly the next time."

Kieran hugged him back. "I know you’ll do great."

Chapter Nine

Gemma sat at the kitchen table a long time after Kieran was gone. For once, the Rider was easier to control than her emotions. The shock she had felt in hearing that her wolf friend was dead had been replaced by grief as acute as if it had happened yesterday.

After a while the grief eased, turning to a dull ache. If she had learned one thing in a century, it was letting friends go.

Now that she knew Kieran and Colm were brothers, she could easily see the connection she had felt from the start. They looked very different, but the familiarity in the energy was there. In a way, it felt as if she hadn’t lost her wolf friend after all. Although she might have lost the new one before they’d even managed to befriend each other.

She felt embarrassed that she had driven Kieran away, but the Rider had been too close to getting free, and his grief had put an additional strain on her. Now, though, she would have loved to talk about Colm with him.

Feeling restless, she shot up. She cleared the table and washed the dishes, but it occupied her only for so long. She tried sitting down again, but a moment later she was back up, pacing the kitchen. She went to the pantry and stared at the contents with unseeing eyes. When she closed the door she had no recollection of what it contained. Then she repeated the same with the fridge. Nothing there appealed to her.

She didn’t need blood, so that couldn’t be why she had no appetite. She had hunted only the day before coming here, her regime strict. She had to feed regularly; otherwise her Rider would become unmanageable.

I wouldn’t mind more blood. That wolf smelled delicious.

Disgusted with the Rider and herself, she stormed into the hallway and picked up her handbag. The expensive accessory looked ridiculous matched with the jogging bottoms, parka and the trainers she pulled on, but she didn’t care. She would go buy some groceries.