Wolfsbane Read online

  WOLFSBANE

  By Rhiannon Held

  Copyright © 2015 by Rhiannon Held

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover design by Kate Marshall (katemarshallwrites.com)

  www.rhiannonheld.com

  To Kate

  I tried to think of something cleverer than “without her, this book wouldn’t exist”

  . . . but without her, this book wouldn’t exist

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  The process of getting this book in people’s hands has been a learning experience, and a challenging one at that. I’ve only made it with the help of all those who supported me along the journey. Corry Lee, Kate Marshall, the Fairwood Writers, and my agent, Cameron McClure, all offered suggestions on various drafts. In fact, I owe an immeasurable debt to Kate many times over, for the beautiful cover, the formatting, and for learning the scary and complicated world of self-publishing right along with me.

  Andrea Howe of Blue Falcon Editing did an excellent job with the copy-editing of this book. Duane Wilkins at the University Bookstore has always been supportive, and was gracious enough to welcome me to read there once more. My fellow archaeologists, Seattle writers, choral singers, and MOO gamers have seen me through the emotional ups and downs, even when some of them didn’t understand a single thing I was talking about. The king and queen of support-without-specific-knowledge have been my parents, and the sister is and always will be the brainstormer extraordinaire.

  And last to thank are the fans—if people had not demanded it, often and enthusiastically, this book would never have seen the light of day.

  Chapter 1

  Andrew Dare strode out of the pack house to meet his daughter and her boyfriend as they pulled into the driveway. Waiting for them to arrive had been enough to give him bald patches, tearing his metaphorical fur out. On the phone they’d claimed the timing would be tight but doable. He hadn’t realized how tight. Felicia would barely be able to wash up before they had to leave for the airport to meet the Russian envoy. Assuming, of course, that she was willing to come, and assuming she agreed that the Russians were even a threat. He’d planned on having much more time to explain things to her.

  Tom, Felicia’s boyfriend, was driving. He was laughing as he jumped out of his battered pickup, but he must have caught the scent of Andrew’s tension because he sobered and jogged around to open the passenger door. Felicia jumped out in wolf form and lifted her nose to test his scent herself.

  They’d left to roam together only about six months ago, and visited briefly since, but seeing his daughter again still caught Andrew unexpectedly hard. Perhaps it was because she’d been kept from him for so much of her childhood. Her wolf form was black with hints of brown or red in the under fur, nothing like her mother’s, but she moved like Andrew’s late wife in some way he couldn’t define.

  “Since it’s just off full, we were taking turns driving so neither would get too itchy in human,” Tom said, apologetic as if Andrew had objected to the fact that his daughter was currently unable to converse with him.

  That was the least of his worries, since it was easily fixed. Andrew gestured to the house. “Come on, I’ll explain inside. The timing’s Lady-damned tight.” Felicia bounded in with a few loping strides, and Tom managed a similar gait even with human legs. Andrew followed with slightly more dignity to give Felicia time to shift.

  He shut the door behind himself quickly when he saw Felicia shivering in human form. This afternoon, the March wind had a chill bite with a droplet or two left from earlier drizzle.

  Tom shrugged off his jacket and Felicia pulled it over her shoulders. “What’s the hurry?” she asked, frowning. The expression harkened back to her teen years, the ones Andrew had raised her through. The wobble away from the adult self she was steadily growing into made him smile and banished her mother from his mind.

  “I know you said you wanted me here for some appointment, but you didn’t say it was an emergency.” Felicia looked around the foyer distractedly, attention more on the house than him. The pair had stopped by to move their things into the new pack house, but it had been decorated since then.

  Andrew didn’t bother with any preamble. “I need you to third for me. The Russians are sending an envoy. There’s some sort of heirloom they’ve been tracking. The family who owned it immigrated to North America and disappeared, apparently. They assume their Were are dead, but they want the heirloom back.”

  Felicia blanched, scent souring with confusion and fear. “The Russians?” She’d held her arms loose, pretending she wasn’t cold, but now she hugged the borrowed coat around herself. “You’re kidding me.”

  Andrew hated to scare his daughter, but seeing her reaction eased a knot in his voice. His mate, Silver, believed him about the Russians, but the other North Americans still seemed dubious about the threat they presented. Two weeks had passed since word had come about the envoy, so he’d had plenty of time to start doubting himself.

  Tom scrubbed a hand through perpetually overgrown hair and eyed them both. “Third? What does that mean?”

  Felicia answered before Andrew could. “It’s a European thing. I’ve told you how much more formal they are over there.” She dropped her chin a moment later, abashed, as she probably realized she’d been so disrespectful as to practically interrupt her alpha. Andrew waved for her to continue. Roamers lost the niceties out on their own. He trusted she’d get back into the habit soon enough.

  “For important meetings, you send an alpha, beta, and third. And guards, of course, but they don’t count. The third is a translator, or family of the person they’re meeting, or expert on the subject they’re meeting about, or whatever.” Felicia murmured something to herself in Spanish, then shook her head. “It sounds too literal translated into English. Maybe lieutenant would be better? It doesn’t have to be literally the third of three people, it’s the third level of status.”

  She eyed her father. “But it’s not like I speak Russian, so I don’t know why Dad wants me.” She tossed him the flicker of a smile. “I’m only nineteen. Not about to wow them with my high rank.”

  Andrew brushed Felicia’s dark waves of hair from her shoulder and nudged her to the stairs. “I want you because you were raised European and so you’re the only other one around here besides Silver who actually believes the Russians are a threat. We have about twenty minutes before we have to leave for the airport, so shower fast and put on something formal if you’re willing to come. We can figure out our strategy in the car.” He squeezed her shoulder to substitute for the words of a proper welcome he didn’t have time to give her.

  That made her laugh for some reason. She twisted around and gave him a tight embrace. “Love you too, Papa.” Her accent slipped back in even before the last word. She ran up the stairs.

  That left Tom standing in the entryway, looking lost. He had the same lanky build as when Andrew had last seen him—by now in his mid-twenties, it wasn’t like he’d grow any more—but he’d filled himself out with a little more confidence. He eyed Andrew from under slightly shaggy bangs. “Russians? I know there’s a pack out there somewhere, but don’t they keep to themselves?”

  Andrew checked the cuff of his sport coat for lint, but it hadn’t developed any in the past ten minutes. He was as ready as he’d ever be, so he might as well distract himself while he waited for Felicia. “There could be the equivalent of fifty packs in the Urals and across Siberia for all we know. What we do know is that they don’t like strong and stable packs on their borders. About thirty years ago, an alpha in Warsaw actually started making peace treaties with his
neighbors. Next thing everyone knew, he’d been murdered. No one figured out by whom in the ensuing infighting, but there were persistent rumors of a Russian visitor who happened to disappear in the chaos. That’s the most recent example, but there are plenty of others over the centuries. For the Russians to suddenly take enough of an interest in us to send an envoy—that’s very, very bad. I don’t buy their story about an heirloom for a minute. When have Were ever kept heirlooms?”

  Andrew’s beta, John, entered the foyer from the hall leading to the kitchen, smell of his recently finished coffee clinging to him. “There’s a difference between our situation and Warsaw’s, though. It’s this thing called the Pacific Ocean.” John’s carefully combed hair and formal jacket clashed with his easy, solid manner. Andrew usually appreciated that solidity in a beta, but not when it made him cling to wrong assumptions. “Whatever the Russians do in Europe, why would they care what we’re up to on a completely different continent? In all those centuries, they’ve never bothered North Americans. The Roanoke pack, even before you took over, was far bigger than anything it sounds like Warsaw managed.”

  “If they were staying on that side of the ocean, I’d say you were right.” Andrew took a deep breath, trying once more, as he had multiple times over these weeks, to set aside the instinctive dread his time in Europe had instilled in him. “But now they’ve made contact with us, and are sending someone over. I can’t see how they could possibly have good intentions.”

  Silver followed her cousin out of the kitchen, licking the remains of some snack off her fingers. She was a great believer in food calming tempers, so she’d even convinced Andrew to eat something earlier. She smacked John upside the head with her good hand and advanced on Andrew next. He ducked out of the way. “No more snapping and snarling about that, remember? Roanoke presents one front. Whether they’re a threat or not, it doesn’t change the respect we offer the envoy.”

  Tom glanced from beta to alpha and started edging for the stairs. Andrew would have let him go, but Silver lifted a hand in a subtle gesture. Tom settled his weight back onto his heels. Andrew didn’t know if Tom realized Silver was using his presence to keep John from further objections—John knew better than to disagree with the alpha more than he already had in front of other pack members—but Andrew was grateful to the young man anyway.

  Silver approached Andrew, stopping a pace away to hold her good arm out, lips curved in dry amusement as she waited for him to check her appearance. She wore a tailored jacket over a less formal top, soft with a hint of lace, and she’d tucked her left hand into the pocket of her slacks to make her bad arm look natural. The illusion worked until she moved and the arm, dead weight from the shoulder, didn’t respond right. Her white hair was braided back, minimizing the shock of the color from the front.

  Not a very physically intimidating sight to offer the Russians, but Silver’s intimidation had never been in her appearance. As if she’d guessed his thoughts, she caught his eyes and measured dominance, a familiar caress of her deep strength against his. Andrew closed the distance to her side and slid his arm over her shoulders. “You look perfect,” he murmured into her ear.

  Felicia squeaked from the top of the stairs and thumped down at great speed, dropping her hands from fluffing her slightly damp hair. At first Andrew couldn’t figure out what she was reacting to, since she’d seen Silver dressed formally before. A moment later he realized Felicia had seen his engagement ring on the hand over Silver’s shoulder.

  He dropped his hand and brought it forward to rotate the ring uncomfortably. He still hadn’t gotten used to wearing one again, it had been so long since Felicia’s mother’s death. Before the Russians, he’d meant to find a way to break the news to Felicia gently, in case it made her uncomfortable. Now he had no idea what to say. “Felicia, we—”

  Sadness laced Felicia’s scent, but she smiled, and replaced it with amusement. “Finally!” She strode over and took his left hand to examine the ring Silver had chosen for him, stainless steel with circles on the top and bottom for the Lady at full and new. His fidgeting had turned the full to the side, and Felicia turned it to face his palm, as was traditional for luck. “You have good taste, Silver.” She released Andrew’s hand, and held hers out to Silver, who extended her right hand instead.

  “I didn’t want to wear it on my bad hand,” Silver said. Andrew smelled her apprehension, sharper than his own, as Felicia examined the ring he’d chosen for her. She exhaled in relief when Felicia captured her in a quick hug.

  “You have to tell me details later.” Felicia stepped back, and spoke before Andrew could. “I know; we’ll be late.” She strode down the hall toward the garage, and John followed.

  Andrew glanced at Tom. He could use the young man’s help, but he didn’t want to make him feel minimized. “It would be useful if you’d drop us off and pick us up so we don’t have to deal with the hassle of parking.”

  Tom held up his hands. “Hey, you tell me I can stay with the car and don’t have to navigate political shit, I’m not going to talk you out of it. I’m happy to help.” He bounded after the others.

  Andrew managed a chuckle, and Silver led the way after Tom. “Whatever the Russian pack’s intentions, this will be one envoy. Meeting us in a place thronged with humans,” she said without looking back. Andrew didn’t know if she’d felt his tension through his touch or if she was just responding to all of his behavior lately.

  “I know,” Andrew said. He did know; some part of him just refused to quite believe it.

  Chapter 2

  Tatiana let the stream of people from her plane carry her along until she spotted a sign about continuing to exit past that point. She slipped out of the flow, leaned against the wall, and rummaged in the top front pocket of her rolling carry-on case. Once she exited, she would be facing the North American alpha, and she wanted a few moments to gather her thoughts.

  Tatiana retucked the leftover packet of pretzels from the flight, zipped the pocket, and straightened. Blue rocks and inset metal fish engravings sparkled in the floor at her feet. In general, the airport looked like most of the other big airports she’d been in, though some character seemed to have seeped into the air, despite herds of humans and numerous intervening vents. Maybe a hint of the sea, though not as much as in Anchorage. Much less than at home.

  Tatiana smoothed her hair’s careful golden waves, though they hadn’t been disarranged, then slipped back into the stream of people, past the bored security guard at the exit point. She was well-prepared for this, she reminded herself. She’d spent several weeks in Anchorage practicing her English idiom and wasting her money on lubricating the voices of Alaskan Were in their favorite bar. Some of her siblings were better at fighting or killing, but she was the one with the best English, the most skill with her words. If anyone could convince the North American alpha to let the packs he’d united resume their independence, it would be her.

  And if she failed, her alpha could send a different assassin. She’d told him she’d kill no more for him, and she would stand by that. It didn’t matter if he increased her responsibilities stealthily—this mission was one to persuade and influence, when she’d only ever gathered information before now, after retiring from lethal duties—she’d still stop short of killing.

  Tatiana felt a little easier for having reminded herself of all that. She relaxed into a more casual stride. Lady guide my feet to run, my jaws to catch, my teeth to rend.

  “For I am a tooth in Her jaws, and I will rend Her prey.” Tatiana murmured the last part of the prayer in Old Were, then switched her thoughts resolutely to English. Any listener here would likely mistake it for Russian, but you never knew what snatches even a North American Were might recognize.

  Even in a busy airport, nothing could disguise the Were waiting for her. They stood off to the side, in a quiet patch in front of a restaurant’s windows, the entrance farther down. Four of them, standing two and two. Tatiana slowed as she tried to decipher them. The alpha sh
ould be in the back, but the sturdy, muscular man there kept his gaze on the ground like a guard or beta. The woman next to him looked too young, too worried about her appearance to be secure in her own power. Tatiana knew from experience that the big, heavy black waves of hair wouldn’t have fallen so artfully over her shoulder without help. She was beautiful, though, with smoky skin and dark eyes.

  The man in front intercepted her gaze as she looked him over, and Tatiana broke the contact instantly. This was the alpha. She could see it in how tall he stood, though he was leaner than his beta. His dark hair was streaked with two white locks at the temples. Lady-touched. Tatiana heard her mother’s priesthood-trained cadence for the term in her mind. But his mate was the one reputed to be Lady-touched, not him.

  That was alpha, beta, and third, even if they’d switched places, so Tatiana supposed the remaining woman was the famous mate. The one who’d started this all, she suspected, though her alpha had only mentioned the threat of a united North America’s fighting strength. Apparently he actually expected her to believe fighting strength was the worry, after rumors of a Lady-touched North American reached the Russian pack and he started seeking visions after a decade with no need for them. He’d even had the priestesses standing with him when he’d explained Tatiana’s task to her, for the Lady’s sake. Fighting strength indeed. Religious strength, more like.

  As Tatiana neared, she saw the mate’s hair, pulled tightly back, was pure white. It surprised Tatiana to discover that part was true. After the outrageous stories she’d collected from European packs and Alaskan Were, Tatiana had fully expected nothing more than a blond woman with a silver scar or two.