The Passion (44 page)

Tragedy had touched us personal y, but for the purposes of the pack events could not have conspired to present a more perfect opportunity for change. Once, Elise had wondered out loud to me whether anyone would respond if, in this modern age, she put out the cal to the pack. But she had no need to cal the pack: within the space of a year we had been brought together by a funeral, a festival disrupted by an assassination attempt, and now a mating ceremony and coronation. Even one of those events would have been remarkable in a single generation; the confluence of al of them presented such a unique sense of unity and, yes, patriotism within the pack that we would have been irresponsible in the extreme not to take advantage.

And so, while I was occupied with the House of Rothschild, Elise was putting into action her own gentle plan for guiding the pack into the future.

There was a diamond mine in Australia, she informed her jewel er, which was owned by humans yet reported to be in possession of a fine blue diamond which she very much desired for her coronation jewels. And when she was last in Vienna she had dined at a charming coffeehouse where the human chef had prepared a confection of dark chocolate and black cherries which she would like to serve at the mating celebration; would her staff be good enough to acquire the recipe? And there was a human clockmaker in Switzerland whom she had employed to make a gift for her betrothed, but only if he could work in partnership with the wood-carvers she had chosen. Of such smal beginnings, such simple things, are great ideas made manifest.

Not once, in private or public, was the subject of Tessa LeGuerre or the murderous Denis Antonov raised to cast a pal over our union. Elise was already a powerful ruler.

Guests began arriving weeks in advance from Europe, Asia and America. During this time a festival atmosphere prevailed throughout the Palais, with athletic competitions and symphony orchestras and productions of the finest bal ets and operas every night. The most renowned chefs in the world prepared our feasts, and yes, some of them were human—as were, for the first time in our history, some of the performers, musicians and service personnel. Was it a political occasion? Of course it was. But it was also the finest mating celebration that has ever been staged.

Three days before the Harvest Moon al the guests were in place, and the Palais was sealed off.

Humans were, of course, sent away. Then came the best of the music, the best of the food, the best of the passion. There was dancing; there were serenades deep into the night, there was copulation and courtship and promises made under the moon.

The air was sweet with musk and the sound of werewolf voices; Elise and I were feted and pampered, massaged with exotic oils, tenderly fed the most delicate cuts of meat and the most potent wines. It was real y quite marvel ous.

On the night of the Harvest Moon the pack assembled in the meadow surrounding the Cal ing Rock. Elise and I were led out in our ceremonial robes while a thousand voices lifted in song surrounded us. I thought no moment could surpass that one: the music, so rich and so complex that it seemed to have a life of its own, practical y lifting us off our feet; the yel ow moon huge in the background, taking up half the sky; and my bride…

ah, my bride.
That
was the moment, when I looked into her eyes, when I was caught up in her gaze and transported by it, when I realized that this magnificent creature had chosen me, that I soon would belong to her and she to me for the rest of our lives—that was a moment so humbling, so transcendental, that I thought I would weep from the beauty of it. My nervousness vanished, my uncertainty was caught by the wind. I was fil ed with the power of absolute adoration.

We cast aside our robes. We stood naked before each other, with the wind in our hair and the song in our ears and we touched, fingertips to fingertips, and the touch was electric. We released our Passion.

Ah, this is a terrifying thing, to give over to the Change in perfect synchronization with another werewolf; terrifying and erotic and whol y transporting. It strips the mind, it takes the senses. It was unlike anything I have ever experienced before, and it is indescribable unless one has already experienced it for oneself. I dare not even try.

Humans have struggled for centuries to find the words to describe the pale emotion they cal love, and have succeeded only in demeaning and cheapening it. We, who are privileged to know in truth what humans can only dimly yearn for, also know the value of silence. This union of souls, this seamless blending into one what once was two, is beyond the frailty of human comprehension and wel it should be. It awaits each werewolf to discover for himself as though it were for the first time in the history of the world.

And yet there is a part of it I must find a way to tel , an essential truth I must share. There was the chase, the capture, the moment of penetration wherein I, the male, commanded her body and she, the female, commanded my soul… and wherein we both lost ourselves in the wholeness of one another.

When two werewolves come together as mates such a flood of information is exchanged, such an influx of thought and emotions and experiences, that the whole becomes greater than its parts, if a great deal more amorphous. It is often days, even weeks, before the newly mated couple can sort out their individuality again, thus the traditional "honeymoon."

But I specifical y recal certain peaks in the wave of life's essence that poured from me into her, from her into me: Elise, two years old, proudly bringing home her first rabbit, only to be laughed at by her brothers who had kil ed a deer; my heart ached for her.

Myself, age five, winning the Long Race, failing in my first symphonic composition; her love encompassed me. Denis, seducing me into the dark rite of the Brotherhood; Elise, who once seduced a human male into having sex with her. Ah, yes.

There were no secrets between us. This is the glory of it. And the pain.

And then there was Tessa. This is how it came to me, in a flood and a jumble of al the other intense emotions and demanding memories of two lifetimes: Tessa, and what I believed to be the truth, and Tessa, and what Elise knew to be the truth. The shock, the pain. Elise:
My love, you did not know
!

And I:
Tessa, no! Why didn't you tel me
!

But you must understand this was only a mil isecond, a flash of lightning, as our lives, our whole and entire lives, passed for review and were absorbed one unto the other. And then there was the carnal urge, the sheer pleasure, the power and the dominion and the magnificent, singular, driving lust that consumed us, commanded us, control ed us until at last my seed exploded into her and her womb opened to embrace it, and our son quickened, and was given life. This, then, was the purpose. This was al that mattered.

It would be weeks before the ful drugging effect of our merging began to dissipate, before we completely understood al that we had captured inside our heads one from the other. This was a private time during which we were intensely protected by the pack while we explored the depth of our emotions and gradual y began to sort out our individuality again. We lay in the sun, we made love, we listened for hours on end to the sound of our infant's growing heartbeat. We marvel ed at each other. And, eventual y, we talked about Tessa.

Tessa, who had fought off Denis's wiles the best she could with her smal human weapons and her wit, and who had, in fact, never betrayed me at al .

She had run to the palace that day to ask for my help and to warn me about Denis; that was what had been in the note that she gave to Gault. And when I had not responded, she had done the best she could.

She was afraid if she defied Denis outright that he would do me harm, or find another, quicker way to eliminate the queen. By pretending to go along with him, by firing the warning shot, she hoped to buy time. This is what she had told Elise. And it is what she would have told me, if I had given her a chance.

For this is the great tragedy of it, the one lesson in my life worth repeating now. The facts were al there for me to know. The opportunities were there for me to uncover those facts. But in my rage I did not al ow Tessa to answer the questions which might have cleared her; instead I broke her arm. In my hurt and, yes, embarrassment, I did not give her the chance to defend herself before the tribunal. In my arrogance I assumed the worst about her—I, who had always prided myself on a lack of prejudice about humans, was just as quick as any other to leap to the worst possible conclusion.

I al owed my passions to overrule my judgement.

This is the most dangerous mistake a werewolf can make. And this time it had resulted in a disaster whose repercussions would be greater than even I could imagine.

Elise had never intended to conceal anything from me. How could she have? She assumed that since I had interrogated Tessa first—and had done so with enough intensity to break her arm—I had gotten the troth. If I had asked Elise she would have told me about her conversation with Tessa in the dungeon, but why should I ask? If
only
I had asked. But I was young and angry and so deeply hurt.

Throughout that horrible night of treachery and trauma, was there any point when I might have struggled through my shame and my pain and talked to Elise in words about it? I don't know. I only know that, once again, I was wrong. And we al paid a horrible price.

Elise had been surprised at the harshness of my punishment for Tessa on that night, but would never think to question my judgement—and assumed I was judging with al the facts. Her sorrow was almost as intense as mine that she had not at some point broached the subject with me, questioned me, made certain that I knew what she knew about why Tessa had acted as she had. Regrets. They are useful only if one learns from them.

The irony was bitter. That we, masters of the earth, imbued with al our superlative senses and so proud of our ability to uncover even the most elaborate deception, had been undone by a simple miscommunication. Anger, pride, intolerance and arrogance; these are the demons that stalk us from the shadows, taunting us with their power, robbing us of our destiny. I had fal en victim to them, and I was ashamed, and sick at heart.

Long before the honeymoon was over, and without a word ever being exchanged between us, Elise and I knew we had to go after Tessa and bring her home.

But even we, the most powerful creatures on the earth, could not control the climate that closed the ports of northwestern Alaska for al but a few weeks every summer. It would be months before we could undertake the journey. By then I was very much afraid it would be too late.

TESSA

AND DENIS

Chapter Twenty-six

They wil find you here
Tessa kept hearing those words over and over again in her head. Every time she closed her eyes, every time she thought she was too tired to go on, the voice would come again:
They wil find you and drag you back with them
, and then she couldn't lie down, she had to keep moving.

The snow blew and her feet grew numb, then burned with icy pain, but she huddled deeper inside the cloak and plodded on. The wind was like shards of ice stabbing through to her bones. It ripped at her skirt and tore at her naked legs and al she wanted was to lie down in the snow, curl up tight with her back to the wind and close her eyes. But she kept hearing that voice, and she kept moving. Perhaps if she had not, she would have died that night.

There was no part of Tessa's mind that remembered the details of what had happened to her in any coherent form. Being seized by rough hands at the stream, being forced to the ground while a big hand clamped down over her mouth and nose, smothering her, and other hands tore at her clothing—that was an ugly story she had heard long ago. Of the blows they rained on her face when she screamed, of the mouths that smel ed of rotted teeth and whiskey, of the laughter, of the ways they hurt her she remembered nothing except as glimpses of waking nightmares. The part of her that could reason and question and link together events to make a cohesive whole was buried with memories she refused to unearth.

She walked through the night, and when the morning came and the wind stopped, she found a snow cave formed by the low-hanging, snow-covered branches of a fir tree. There she burrowed like a ground-dwel ing creature and slept and dreamed no dreams.

And thus was the pattern of her days, light unto dark. She walked until she could walk no more; then she would sleep, burying herself beneath an insulating blanket of snow. When she found berries on the bush she ate them, and sometimes they made her retch. She ate for the same reason she moved: not because she wanted to or even understood the reason for it, but because it was instinct. And instinct was al she had left now.

Of the woman who once had read Molière and danced with a werewolf there was no trace. The young girl who had dreamed of miracles and been touched by magic was gone. And whatever she once had known of humanity had been extinguished by the brutality of humans.

Sometimes she would see tracks in the snow made by a large animal and vague memory would stir, but it sifted through her grasp like chaff in the wind.

Nothing that moved in the forest or cried from the mountaintop could frighten her now. Neither the splendor of the sunset nor the fury of the storm impressed her. Her body kept moving, but her soul had retreated into a dark place deep inside, like a smal hard seed waiting for the spring to be reborn.