Witch Wolf (11 page)

"but just how structured are they?"

Rosalin met his gaze in the rearview mirror. "I can't share that information with you."

Rupert smiled. "That answers my question."

Rosalin frowned at him.

"What does the Countess of Oklahoma want with you, Kassandra?"

"I'm not exactly sure, but I'm guessing she's trying to stay on the good side of publicity and in everyone's good graces."

Rosalin laughed from the backseat. "Lenorre," she said, "trying to stay in everyone's good graces." She laughed. "That you think so shows you don't know her very well."

I frowned. "I don't know her." I turned as much as the seat belt would allow. "Which brings to mind," I said, "how do you know her and how well do you know her?"

"I work for her," she said. "I wait tables at the club." She grinned. "I make good tips. I also happen to live with her, so yeah. . . I know her fairly well."

"You live with her?" Rupert gave her a disbelieving look in the mirror.

For some reason, the idea of Rosalin living with Lenorre really didn't sit well with me. Were they lovers? Was that why she lived with her? I frowned.

"Yes," she said, "I live with her. I take care of her house. She offers me a place to stay."

"Why aren't you living with the pack?" I asked. "Are you lovers?"

Rosalin's honey brown eyes sparkled, even in the dark. "I'm happy where I'm at," she said. "It works for me. No, we're not lovers. Lenorre doesn't take lovers."

It was my turn to give her a disbelieving look. Lenorre, the countess who had oozed her sex appeal all over me, didn't take lovers. Right. I don't turn furry once a month, either.

If you asked me, that seemed a little absurd.

When we arrived at Guns Unlimited I wondered: If she wasn't looking for good publicity, what in the world did Lenorre want with me?

*

Rosalin was silent on the drive back to my apartment. I'd spent five minutes reassuring Rupert that I would be fine with her. He didn't seem to think so. I disagreed with him, because even though Rosalin's wolf had challenged mine, I'd understood it. It pissed me off, still, but I couldn't say I didn't understand. Rosalin and I knew where we stood with one another now, and on the human level she'd been nothing but polite and friendly. Hell, she was worried about her brother.

That she couldn't fake.

I trusted my gut and my abilities. Whether it's foolish or not, they haven't failed me yet.

I parked the car and got out, carrying my thermal draped over one arm. Rosalin followed, and when I heard her door close I hit the lock on the keypad, climbing the stairs to my apartment.

I hit the switch on the wall and the light flooded the room. I shut the door, locking it behind her.

"Shit," she said.

"What is it?" I asked watching her take a cell phone out of her pocket.

"I was in such a hurry I forgot to bring stuff."

"That's fine," I said tiredly. "We're about the same size. I'm sure I can find clothes and a spare toothbrush."

"You don't mind?" she asked, uncertainly.

"Right now, I'm too tired to mind."

She went to the couch and sat down. "It seems strange, doesn't it? How all of this has happened?

You're not used to it."

"I'm not used to what?"

"Putting your trust in someone else," she said.

"No."

"I meant what I said." She held my gaze. "I won't betray your trust, Kassandra."

"Good," I said, "I'm a bitch when crossed."

She smiled. "I find that hard to believe."

I ignored the sarcasm in her tone and went back to my bedroom. I found a pair of shorts and a gray shirt with a white dragon on it. I handed the clothes to Rosalin and went to the closet at the end of the hallway to procure a black comforter. There were pillows already on the couch that she could use. I dropped the comforter on the arm and set about starting a fresh pot of coffee.

If I was going to question her, I really needed some freaking caffeine.

"Do you want some?" I asked, turning just in time to see her shirt fall to the floor.

"Sure," she said and my gaze dropped to a line of white scar tissue that decorated her back.

She pulled the shirt down and turned to look at me.

I got two mugs out of the pantry and carefully poured the coffee in, adding milk and sugar to mine.

"Milk or sugar?" I asked.

"Milk," she said.

I handed the white coffee mug to her. "What happened to your back?"

Her eyes met mine. "Silver," she said and dropped her eyes to the pentacle scar at the top of my sternum.

She smiled. "I'm guessing that was silver, too?"

"Yeah." I sat down, nursing my coffee. I grinned over the brim of my mug. "Fortunately, though, the chain wasn't."

She laughed and it seemed to lessen the tension between us.

"You don't want to tell me more about your back, do you?" Leave it to me to bring the tension back.

"No."

I nodded, dropping it. I curled my legs under my body, resting back in the chair.

"How did Sheila become your alpha?" I asked.

"She's stronger than the rest of us."

"I'm taking it that's your way of telling me she wasn't elected by democratic vote?"

Rosalin laughed. "Elected? Lykos don't elect their leaders," she said. "That's a pretty idea, but it doesn't work that way."

"Why not?" I asked.

"In order to be an alpha," she said, "you have to be able to prove to the rest of the pack that you're more dominant than the rest of us. Most of the time, it's about power and bluffing.

Personality plays into it as well. There are wolves in the pack that are submissive to the core.

They'll never aspire to climb the pack ladder because they enjoy the safety of being under the rest of the pack's protection."

"Like an omega wolf?" I asked. In the wild, the omega wolf was the lowest-ranking wolf in a pack. It was the wolf that got picked on the most. The wolf that didn't get to eat until the rest of the wolves were done eating. Yet, as badly treated as it appears the omega wolf is, he or she is still under the protection of the rest of the pack. Which is why I asked, "It just looks like they're treated poorly? The wolves in the wild usually don't actually cause any physical harm to the omega, they just snarl and humiliate him or her."

"That is how it is supposed to be, yes." Something in her voice made me meet her gaze. "With werewolves, it doesn't always happen that way."

"What are you thinking that you're not telling me?" I leaned forward.

Her eyelids fluttered closed and she whispered, "Sheila has led the pack for eight years, and throughout the years she's held the pack together and followed the rules in every way. Lately, her hold is slipping."

"What does that mean?"

"She's let her darker desires cloud her judgment," Rosalin said. "She's a sadist, Kassandra. She has issues."

"You're not talking a little slap and a bit of hair pulling, are you?"

"No," she said. "She's abused those who are meant to be under her protection. It's gotten worse since her brother arrived." A growl trickled from between her lips.

"I take it you don't like him?"

"No one does," she said. "The only reason the pack has accepted him is because we have no other choice. It's not unusual for a new wolf to come in flaunting the Rite of Challenge. He hasn't done that. . . yet."

"The Rite of Challenge?" I asked.

"One werewolf challenges the other to a duel," she explained. "If the wolf challenging a higher-ranking wolf defeats them, then they get the higher-ranking wolf's position. It's a way to move up in the pack hierarchy."

"So, if someone challenges you, they get to be beta wolf?"

"Yes," she growled, but her eyelids flickered nervously.

"Don't worry," I said, "I'm not going to challenge you. How is the duel fought?" I asked.

"By shifting," she said and her gaze lowered.

I sat my mug on the table and slid to the floor, looking up at her. "It's to the death, isn't it?" I spoke what I sensed.

"Not always," she whispered.

"But most of the time?" I whispered. "Is that how it is?"

She put her face in her hands, auburn tresses hiding whatever expression she wore. "I don't know," she whispered. "Usually, it's to third blood. There are some that hold to the older customs, which yes, is to the death."

A single tear dripped from her chin. I moved to her without thinking.

I pressed my lips against her damp cheek, catching that tear on the tip of my tongue. I closed my eyes, savoring its salty sweetness, breathing my breath against her skin. Her scent came on my exhaled breath, the smell of moist soil and earth, the smell of wolf. Somewhere inside me I felt the wolf stir.
Pack
, she thought, and a fierce yearning gripped my heart.

Rosalin's fingers stroked my hair, lifting the white streak.

"Doesn't it get lonely?" she asked, smiling with soft sorrow.

"What do you mean?" I whispered, leaning into her touch.

"Being without a pack. Especially with the mark of the alpha on you." She tugged at the white streak.

"I haven't been around any other wolves to know," I said, suddenly understanding why most other wolves didn't have a punk-rock hairdo like mine.

She murmured, "But, you feel it, don't you?"

I turned, rubbing my cheek against her fingertips. "Feel what?" I asked, dipping my head and sliding my cheek across her jeaned thigh.

"Kassandra," she said with a hint of laughter in her tone that the wolf and I were happy to hear.

She smelled good. I wanted to carry that smell with me. I wanted to make her smell like me. I opened my mouth and sank teeth playfully into her thigh. She gasped above me.

I could smell the subtle and clean smell of detergent on her clothes, could taste it, but the scent I focused on drawing into my lungs smelled of that damp soil, of pine trees, of rich earth and patchouli. I dug my teeth in a little rougher, growling my frustration around a mouthful of jeans.

"Kassandra," she said and I rolled my eyes up to her. She touched my face and the scent grew stronger, less tainted. I turned my face toward her wrist. Yes, that's the smell we wanted.

I froze feeling my heartbeat pounding against the side of my neck.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Nothing," she said. "It's your wolf, Kassandra, just go with it. What does it feel like she wants?"

My eyelashes fluttered closed. Her scent spiraled in the air around me. What did I want? What did she want?

"Smell," I said and Rosalin began taking off her shirt.

I wrapped my hands around her shins, digging my nails into her calf muscles. "No."

With a nod, she did what I asked. She left the shirt on. I climbed up onto the couch. Rosalin lay back and I gave her a distrusting look. It seemed so natural just to lie down with her, to lie next to her and smell her. I tried to argue with the wolf, but Rosalin moved her wrist to my face again and the wolf followed that smell. Where the wolf went, my body followed.

I pushed myself up off the couch in one fluid motion, breathing heavily, scrambling to my feet and nearly tripping over the coffee table.

She watched me with those compassionate honey eyes.

"Why are you scared?" she asked. "It's only natural."

"No." I hugged myself. "Rosalin, no, I'm not ready."

"Your wolf seems more than ready."

I felt her as she paced inside my mind. The wolf didn't try to slam into any metaphysical bars.

She didn't want out. She just wanted the comfort of another wolf. She didn't understand why I didn't agree with her. It confused her. It didn't confuse me. Rosalin might have been another wolf, but as a human, she was still a stranger to me.

I asked, "What if I wanted to join the pack?"

"Is that what you want?" She gave me a disbelieving look.

I opened my eyes. "No," I said, "but it'll probably be necessary."

"Oh," Rosalin said, "because you suspect. . . "

I nodded. "Yes."

"Sheila would be going against pack law if she didn't at least meet with you," she said. "I can take you in and introduce you, if she gives me permission, but you're going to have to play it like you're seriously considering joining."

"I know. If that's what it takes, Rosalin, I'll do it."

My cell phone rang from its place on the nightstand. I rolled over, blinking at the bright little window on the phone's face. I flipped it open.

"Arthur," I grumbled sleepily, and rolled my eyes toward the clock. "It's almost four o'clock in the morning. What the fuck?"

"Guess again, Lyall." Instead of Arthur's voice, someone else's gruff voice grumbled in my ear.

I sat up in bed. "Deputy Sheriff Witkins," I said, wondering why the hell he was calling me from Arthur's phone. The only explanation I could think of was not a good one. "What happened?"

"There's been another murder," he said, then asked me if I remembered how to get to the Nelsons'.

"For the most part," I said, leaning over and finding a pen and legal pad in the top drawer of the nightstand. I put the pen in my mouth, taking the cap off, speaking around it. "Give me the address."

"Go about two and a half miles past the Nelsons'," he said, "When you pass Cole Road, you're going to make a left onto Southeast Twenty-sixth Street. My men have got their lights on."

I kicked back the covers, tearing off the sheet of paper with the directions on it. "Deputy," I asked, "may I speak with Arthur?"

"Yeah, but make it fast," he said. "The scene is getting cold."

I bit back the retort that the scene was always cold by the time they called me in.

"Hey, Kass," Arthur said.

"If there's not a steaming cup of coffee in your hands by the time I get there, Kingfisher, I'm going to kick you in the balls."

I closed the phone, hanging up before Arthur could reply. My feet hit the floor as I stumbled around the room grabbing what I needed: shirt, jeans, bra, socks, shoes, and my shoulder holster.

I went into the bathroom, relying on my night vision as I slipped the nightgown off, allowing it to fall to the floor. I shimmied into the jeans, pulled the bra straps up on my shoulders, and slid the shirt on over my head.