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  But then, Luke thought, as he started to lope steadily after the car, the woman inevitably had at least five of the wicked slammers, rapid injections of tequila, before the man took her home. Compliments of the man, of course.

  Luke galloped down the city street, unnoticed by the clumps of people that flowed from place to place like jetsam on a tide. On occasion, someone would start to suspect his transformation, then look and see nothing, shaking their head. Luke wasn't concerned if they caught a glimpse of motion out of the corner of their eyes, he knew he could blend into the greyness of the night. He'd been doing this for so long he didn’t even have to think about it. There were many skills a werewolf could develop over time, and he’d had more time than any other werewolf on earth, by several thousand years.

  The car had turned toward the piers and the smell of tar, salt, and dying fish assaulted Luke's nose. Almost choking, Luke dropped his head toward the pavement to get closer to the rubber scent of the tires he was tracking. Tall walls of cement rose up on either side of the street like cliffs and neon signs beckoned damp travelers. A young woman wearing combat boots brushed by Luke without seeing him, slapping his nose with a wet gypsy skirt suffused with the scent of cigarette butts and alcohol. He shook his head and turned to look at her as she swept around a corner. Luke saw only the bobbing of magenta hair as she strode into a tiny club that faced the low, dirty walls between the alleyway and the parked cars under the Alaskan Way viaduct.

  The only thing Luke could find to admire in his latest prey was the way the man could disguise himself. He probably went to the same sets of bars every Friday and Saturday night, alternating through about a dozen that he would be back to visit every six weeks or so, and his past conquests never knew it. Despite his disgust, Luke knew better than to underestimate the man. He had done that with another prey, years ago, and it nearly killed him. The car passed into a parking garage, and Luke went to an alley to change form again, then walked through the front door of the building. A doorman let him in without knowing it, and Luke went to the elevators, where he stepped in. After the doors closed, he ripped the panel open, pulled some wires to force the elevator to let him out on the penthouse level, then shoved it back together so it looked nearly the same as before. It was going to be a long, miserable night.

  * * *

  Luke looked through the doorway to the repair shop, studying his new mark. The last one – the lothario – had proven to be a small-time criminal with friends in high places. After all the time spent in dank bars listening to bad pickup lines, Luke had finally dismissed him as a suspect and now studied the small, greasy man under the Pontiac convertible. It hadn't been a convertible a few days ago.

  Luke was beginning to get nervous. After eliminating most of the suspects with a quick pass through their minds, he had seriously considered lobotomizing all who remained, but he still needed to locate the crystal skull, so the only choice was to wait and watch. He’d begun to think the suspect he was looking for was uncannily clever. Luke knew by now that the entire sect of these werewolf hunters would be trained to cover their tracks well enough to look nearly innocuous on the surface, sometimes hinting at underworld connections, but nothing serious. Luke chafed at the amount of time the precious skull had spent in the hands of the enemy. He should also check in on the abandoned cub directly, but the imperative to get the skull back into his possession was too important to take a break from yet.

  Luke reconsidered his tactics once more as he listened to the garage talk, barely decipherable even for his sharp ears.

  It had been months since he’d made a face-to-face connection with anyone he knew. The enforced separation was distressing; both the wolf and the man in him craved company, but it was still a short time in his long life and he knew the thief would be looking over his shoulder, watching for someone like Luke. Not that there was anyone like Luke.

  Luke had changed over the years. He had been brash in his youth. As long ago and far away as it was, he still remembered the dark hair and violet eyes of his first true love, though by now it was nearly all he could remember of her, and the way she looked at him the last time he saw her.

  "Lucianus," she had said, "Amor, noli abire. Hi homicidae sunt.” My love, do not leave, they are murderers. He had brushed past her. It hadn't occurred to him, in his ego-ridden fury, that it wasn't his own life she was talking about.

  He never saw her again. He only heard how she had died weeks later, and how long it had taken. Four days. She had lived for four days through tortures relayed to Luke only in whispers, and only after Luke demanded to know, blade first. If she could wait four days to die, he could learn to be patient. And he relived that lesson nearly every day of his existence, for nearly three thousand years.

  The new mark pulled himself out from under the car and wiped a grease-stained arm across his forehead, then walked around the side of the building to the bathroom. Luke had watched him drink six cups of coffee this morning, so he wasn't at all surprised.

  Luke also wasn't surprised to see another man rifle through the wallet that had slipped out of his co-worker's pocket. Men. Millennia after millennia, they never changed. What amazed Luke was that humans, every generation of humans, believed their generation was the most miserable. But time after time, there was no difference. There would always be holy wars. Where once there were Christian crusades, there were now politicians and welfare wars, both cleansing entire nations in the name of so-called ethics and decency. There had always been thieves, there would always be thieves. And war. Here in this relatively new nation of America, where officials were elected by vote, serfs still existed, only called by new names; minimum wage employees. Where once there were feuds, now there were Bloods, and Crips. Subjugated, they filled the inner cities and perpetrated violence on the only opponents they could reach – each other. There would always be slavery and rape, too. These used to be more predictable because men who loved such sport would buy suits of armor and well-muscled stallions, then join armies and violate the women they found in towns they pillaged, and enslave the men. Such barbarians were still around, but they blended in more easily and found more underhanded ways to do the same thing, often using a position of public power to carry out their malfeasance. Era after era, nothing changed.

  And nothing seemed to change here in the garage, either. The man returned to his work, stripping the Pontiac down for spare parts he was using to repair a different car. It seemed to Luke that there were better ways to fix a machine, but it wasn't his place to point that out. It was his place to sit still and watch. Without even a sigh, Luke observed. Hours later, Luke followed the man home.

  Chapter 10 – Eco-tourism

  Carl paced the kitchen floor while Jordan unloaded the groceries. "Jordan, Diana smells dangerous."

  Jordan gave him a disgusted look. "That's rude, Carl."

  Carl paused and looked up. "No, really," Carl rubbed his hand through his golden hair. "I can smell things in a way I can’t explain, ever since that first transformation."

  Jordan shuddered and stopped with the groceries. "You mean to tell me that you can smell me, too?"

  "Yes, of course, I can." Carl stopped pacing for a moment. "I didn't know what it was at first, but now it's part of you, like your face, or your voice."

  Jordan pressed the heels of a hand against his forehead and turned away. "Jesus, Carl! Why did you have to tell me! That's... unnatural. I don't suppose showering helps?" He glanced at Carl as he lowered his hand.

  "For a minute or two." He walked over and put a hand on Jordan's shoulder. "Come on – it's not all that horrid. Actually, you smell quite... well, good, I suppose. Not so much as a woman does, but much better than the horse!" Carl grinned.

  "Well, that cheers me right up." Jordan swung out from under Carl’s hand and left abruptly, passing Diana on his way out.

  Carl frowned and began to pace again, shaking his head, averting his eyes quickly as Diana walked in the door.

 
Diana looked behind at where Jordan had been a moment ago. "What's wrong with Jordan? He looks sick."

  Carl looked up at her with his most charming smile. "I couldn't tell you." Which was true, technically. "He's not in a pleasant mood very often," he said, dismissing the incident.

  Diana focused her long-lashed eyes on Carl. "That's strange. He's got quite a... dry sense of humor."

  Carl considered her words for a moment, then shrugged. "So, tell me more about your task here." He leaned back against the counter and crossed one ankle over the other.

  Diana started opening and closing cupboards.

  Jordan won't be too happy about that, Carl thought as he watched her.

  Diana answered blithely, "I made your father an offer he couldn’t refuse. I can turn $500,000 worth of property and an equal investment in cash into millions of annual revenues by developing the property into an eco-tourism resort.”

  Carl watched her methodically search through the kitchen. “Why would wealthy people drive all the way up Highway 2 when they can go to Aspen and have prime shopping with their nature experience?”

  “Where they drive all the way up Highway 82 and don’t get the chance to feel like they’re making a positive difference.” Diana’s lucid blue eyes measured him with condescension. She had found a bag of pretzels and pulled them down. “Mind if I have some?”

  With a nod at the pretzels, knowing he'd receive several rounds of verbal abuse from Jordan, Carl answered, "But there’s already infrastructure there.”

  "There wasn’t when it was built." Various locks of her hair brushed her shoulders as she shook her head, a wry smile forming. "Carl, trust me, I’ve researched the feasibility already. It will work. I’ve checked it all out. I just need more specifics, like an inventory of the species that can be seen on the property, some quotes from local construction companies, things like that."

  Carl watched her fingers and lips almost tease the small pretzels into her mouth, then realized he was staring. "Why don't I take you to the library.” He led her, the bag still in her hand, toward the far corner of the house. “That’s as good a place as any to start. You’ll probably want to go into Seattle tomorrow to meet with local businesses. And with traffic being what it is, it would probably be best if you just stay there in a hotel tonight. Why don’t I have Jordan take you in? I’ll get you a room.”

  Diana grabbed his arm and pulled him around, frowning. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she chided. “I’ve got to check out the lay of the land first and have my numbers ready before I ask for quotes.”

  “But surely…”

  She gave him a calculating look. “You don’t want me here.”

  “No, no, that’s not it. I just have some business to take care of tonight.”

  “And I would be in the way?” She frowned.

  “Well, to be honest, yes, you would,” Carl tried to think of a more compelling reason to get her out. He would be transforming again tonight, and he and Jordan would have to change the routine completely if he couldn’t persuade her to go.

  “Live with it. I told your father I’d get here, get the job done, and get out. That’s what I plan to do. If you have a problem with that, talk to your father.” She turned away from him and walked into the library, where she stood seemingly stupefied for several moments as she gazed up at row after row of books from all eras and subjects. Her jaw dropped.

  Carl stepped just outside the library and opened the back door where he found Jordan blanketing the car with a heavy cover that defended it from windblown objects. He called to him. "Could you bring some..." he turned back in Diana’s direction and suggested, "Coffee, tea, brandy?" She shook her head as she chewed pretzels, still looking up at the books. He turned back to Jordan, "One coffee. A French roast if you would."

  * * *

  Carl didn't notice that Jordan had entered with the coffee until he realized Diana was staring intently at the weightlifter. He waved Jordan in, and Jordan stood by while Diana walked out. She turned at the doorway and her thick black lashes lowered as she asked Jordan, "Can you come up and help me in a few minutes?" when he nodded, she left. Carl watched the exchange with mixed feelings.

  Jordan turned to face Carl. "What?” he asked.

  Carl clenched his hands on his hips and stared at Jordan's implacable form. "I trust you aren't thinking about getting involved with her. She has to be out of these mountains before I alter again."

  Jordan put one hand on his hip, the other still holding Carl's coffee as his eyes became slits. "No, really? Tell me, is the sky blue? Fucking moron." He put the coffee down. "If that's all, I should get dinner started," he lowered his voice and it cut sharply as he finished, "and Diana wants me."

  Carl cursed silently, then picked up the mug and paused, trying to get a grip on his emotions. He was beginning to think he’d have to go through this transformation phase with her in the house, and it terrified him. The last thing he needed was to imagine her working Jordan over for information while he was indisposed.

  "God, Jordan, if I had your nerves I'd be a surgeon. Is there anything in this world that moves you?" He took a shaky sip of coffee before setting the cup down, then pulled a slim wallet from his pocket. "Take this," he spat, as he drew a card out of the wallet for one of the more expensive stores on the more expensive end of town, "and get yourself some clothing tomorrow. Oh, what the hell; redo your wardrobe – say, $700. Some slacks, jeans, definitely shirts, maybe a tie or two..."

  Diana strolled back into the room. "You're going shopping?"

  Jordan jerked around to face her, his attention seemed to be drawn like a magnet to the way her blouse clung to the S-curves of her shape.

  "Could you take me with you?" she continued.

  Jordan turned back to Carl who gave him a hard look. "Sure," he said, staring at Carl. "I don't see why not." He turned to Diana. "What did you want?"

  "Oh, a few sweaters, some jeans..."

  "I meant now!" He said sharply.

  "Oh! I'm sorry…" Diana leaned back slightly, looking confused for a moment, then replied, "I need you to bring my suitcase down here for me, if you could. It's quite heavy, and the wheels don't work right."

  Jordan walked out before she finished, and her eyes followed him as he went.

  "He’s kinda weird,” she observed, turning back to Carl, her big blue eyes widening. “Jordan mentioned wolves that are being relocated. How far away are they doing that?"

  Carl was still off balance, trying to analyze the body language. Jordan was enough of a challenge alone, and Diana was a problem not only to interpret, but to avoid being interpreted by. If she was in sales, she was likely to be very perceptive.

  "Oh, perhaps 150 miles as the crow flies," he finally answered.

  She looked puzzled. "With this kind of country, you shouldn't be seeing wolves anywhere near here. They wouldn't go toward civilization, and I understand that the mountains become less and less inhabited as you go north, so that’s where they would head. The animals in this region shouldn't be affected by wolves, really."

  Carl was at a loss. Apparently, Jordan had started the subterfuge, but he didn't understand wolves as well as Carl, and apparently Diana, did. Carl could tell her about the bite, but if the news got back to his father, he'd have to explain why he hadn't said anything in the first place, which could unravel his carefully woven deceit. “You have an interest in wolves?”

  “Oh, absolutely,” She answered as a sensuous smile spread across her face. “I’m interested in turning your father’s property into an eco-tourism resort, with viewing towers and high-powered telescopes. I hadn’t dreamed of wolves, though. That would clinch it. Are you sure they’re that far away?”

  To cover his alarm and gain some time, he turned and slid open a drawer in the end table, lifting a sheet of paper from it. "Maybe you’ll be interested in this," he said, holding it out to Diana. It was the book inventory of his current library on wolves and wolf-like creatur
es that Jordan had put on his desk this morning. She studied it, and her eyes opened wide. He took a long swallow of coffee as he watched her.

  Jordan was back shortly with the suitcase. She opened it, provoking an exclamation from Carl. It was packed almost entirely with books, primarily on wolves. Diana watched him when she spoke. "This might interest you. It's all the books on the upper part of my own list. Oh, here," she handed him a piece of paper and he scanned it intently, catching his breath at one of the titles.

  "You brought the entire lupine series?" he asked, eyes wide in disbelief.

  She shrugged as she leaned a delicate arm on a shelf.

  "Not the whole thing. I have 'Vocalization', 'Gestures', and 'Scenting'. I’m still tracking down the others. I’m looking for nature books, with a focus on wolves. I didn’t dream of being so close to them…” her voice trailed off as she looked intently at him. Was she trying to ask him something? Analyze him?

  Carl’s attention was drawn back to the list, trying to suppress his excitement at books he’d been trying to get his hands on for months.

  "Where did you find these?" He forgot himself for a moment as his eyes ran eagerly over the page.

  "I have a few sources who know I’m looking for scholarly books on nature, with a particular interest in wolves…” her voice trailed off as she stared intently into his eyes. What was she trying to find?

  Carl lost himself for a moment as he re-focused on the titles eagerly. Many of the volumes would be immensely helpful in his studies of wolf behavior.

  "If that's all you need me for, I have a trout to net," Jordan’s voice broke in on Carl’s thoughts.

  "A trout to net?" Diana inquired.

  "We have a farm in the back," Carl answered absently, still perusing the list. "We're beta-testing it for an associate."