Marlaena
I’d never been much for sticking to the shadows, especially in my human skin, so the request to get together in a dim alley sucked. “You wanted to meet me?” I raised an eyebrow at the man in the shadows, his attempt at anonymity in the poorly lit alley nearly worthless considering my superior night vision and my sense of smell. And this man’s scent was distinct: humanity tainted with cheap cigarettes, cheaper cologne, and vodka—lots of vodka. I’d recognize him just by his stink. His scent coated the inside of my nostrils like pollution crawling into carefully maintained airducts.
“Da,” he said, his eyes scanning me.
“Well, here I am.” I clapped my hands in front of me and pushed out one hip to rest a hand on it.
He blinked, startled but unimpressed.
“You are one of them?” he asked.
“One of who?”
“The oborot.”
“Ober-what?”
“Oborot: ones transformed.” He stepped into the light. Muscular and significantly older than me, he had short-cropped, salt-and-pepper hair, and eyes that looked like they had seen everything life had to offer—good and bad—twice. “Werewolves.”
“Ohhh. Werewolves. Yeah.” I straightened. “Yeah. I’m not just one of them—I’m the best of them,” I said, shooting him a narrow look. “But before we go any further, exactly who are you?”
“A man with significant ties and money who is looking for some people—independent contractors—with special abilities and a desire to make some fast cash under the table.”
“Under the table. Of course. Go on.”
“Things will be dangerous.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and nodded.
“Certain situations will become violent.”
I shrugged.
“There may even be a need—from time to time—to break a few laws.” He went silent, watching me with hooded eyes.
A few long minutes passed.
“Did I tell you to stop talking?”
He barked out a short laugh. “So we shall do business?”
“You keep my pack sheltered, clothed, and fed—well fed—and I think we can reach an agreement.”
This time he clapped his hands together. “Excellent. Then perhaps we can get started.” He motioned for me to follow him out of the alleyway. “Let us get something to eat. You look hungry.”
My stomach rumbled at the invitation.
“The first thing we shall discuss is my suspicion there are more of your type here. In Junction. Parading as simple humans.”
“I’m not a fan of hiding what you really are.”
“Excellent. Have you met the Rusakovas?”
“My scout mentioned them, but no, I haven’t had the pleasure. They’re your over-whatevers?”
“Oboroten. Da. But they may no longer be.”
“What?”
“They have taken a cure—a medicine of sorts that denies the wolf its grasp on them.”
Sick. And not in the that’s-so-amazingly-awesome-I’ll-call-it-sick way. In the that-thought-makes-me-wanna-puke-kittens-sick way.
“I want to know that the cure works. That it is unbreakable—permanent. If it is permanent, they have gone against their nature. They should be destroyed, da?”
I glared at him. “Totally da. The Wolf is the Way.”
“I knew we would see eye to eye. Bring them in if they are not cured or the cure is not permanent.”
“And if it is?”
“Kill them.”
“I’m not so big on killing.”
He glared at me, his jaw set.
“I didn’t say we wouldn’t, just that I’m not big on it. Besides, I know why I’d be pissed at wolves opting for some dumb-ass cure, like this”—I ran my hands down my sides—“is some sickness. But what’s it to you?”
“I invested a great deal of time and money in Pietr Rusakova to extract a promise from him.”
“A promise?” I nearly laughed. Life was littered with broken promises. “So he screwed you out of something.”
“Da. His services.”
“Huh.” Weird Russian dude was willing to off people who didn’t meet his expectations. Hardcore. I cracked my knuckles. “How soon does my pack get taken care of?”
“Just say yes and I will take care of everything.”
“I’m not as dumb as this Pietr guy. No promises just yet.”
He looked at me with rage simmering in his eyes, but we both knew his options were limited. There weren’t enough werewolves to go around, it seemed.
“Let’s talk food and shelter.” Thrusting my hands in my pockets I pointed out of the alley with my chin. Unlike the Russian, I realized my pack suddenly had a bunch of options opening up.
Alexi
Although I struggled to trust Wanda, it still seemed she was doing her best to allay my fears. Standing outside her flat, I knocked quickly.
She opened the door and gave me a welcoming smile.
“I never thought an officer of the enemy would so gladly invite me into her flat,” I remarked as Wanda ushered me in. “Why do I keep thinking, ‘Walk into my parlor said the spider to the fly?’”
“Because you have significant trust issues when it comes to older women?”
I cocked my head and thought about it a moment. “Da. A point for you.”
“Look, I just figured since you guys are going to be in a bit of a financial crunch now with the Mafia gone and the company blown to smithereens and since I need to head back to DC and elsewhere to discuss my job options and get a few things straightened out—”
“Being sold to the highest bidder still does not sit well with you?” I asked, remembering how she came to be a part of the company when she still believed she was working for the CIA.
She blinked at me. “You could say that.… Anyhow. There’s a lot of stuff it seems I accumulated in a short amount of time.”
“How very American of you.”
She snorted. “And it’s stuff I don’t need, but your family might find a use for.”
Slowly we made our way through each small room and I did indeed find a few items here and there that my siblings and household might benefit from possessing.
In the bathroom (a spot we were still refurbishing, thanks to Max’s destructive final change), half-packed boxes revealed a curling iron for Cat (she had two already, but seemed to lust after others, saying barrel size was as important in curling irons as guns), a set of matching bathroom rugs and curtains, and a set of cups and a toothbrush holder.
Wanda flopped down on the couch. “If you can convince Max to help you move this,” she said, motioning to the blue plaid upholstery beneath her, “you can have it, and the recliner, too. I have no idea what’s going to happen with my job. Or where I’ll wind up. And I have no desire to pay rental for a storage unit I may never come back for.”
“So that’s it, then,” I asked, sitting in the recliner and testing it out. “You’re leaving with no intention of coming back?”
She leaned forward and flipped through a box of picture frames.
“Are you seriously leaving for good? Leaving Leon?”
She paused, seemingly examining a photograph of something. “I don’t know where my job will take me.”
“So do another job.”
She snorted. “It’s like telling a tiger to change its stripes. This is the only job I’ve ever really had—except for that one sandwich shop when I was seventeen.” She shook her head, ponytail whipping. “I don’t intend to go back to making subs.”
“You have had other jobs,” I protested. “Your cover jobs. Librarian, what else?”
She smiled faintly. “If we include my cover jobs, I can honestly say I’ve worked in nearly every type of industry in the past dozen years.”
“You had training to appear competent—to blend in—with all of them, da?”
“Of course. That’s the only way you maintain cover.”
“So you have options. You do n
ot have to work for the CIA anymore or any of its wayward branches. You can return to Junction. Live the life you really want to live, with the man you want to live it with. You are no longer a slave to your employment.”
“My employment—even with the company—provided decent benefits like health care. I can’t get that making sandwiches or selling shoes or fancy soaps.”
“Would you rather have health care provided or be provided with the sort of care that will help keep you healthy physically, emotionally, and mentally?” I smiled at her.
“Who the hell are you?”
“What?”
“What’d you do with Alexi—you know the guy: bitter and cynical, struggling with life and his family. Always smells of smoke or vodka? Where’d he go?”
I laughed.
“I swear to god, it’s like I’m talking to a pod person.”
“Life is not so bad when you are not on the run or wondering when your big secret will suddenly come out and things will blow up in your face.” I shrugged.
“So how is the White Crow?”
I froze and looked at her carefully. “As beautiful and intelligent as ever.”
“You’re in love with her.”
“I have been for a while now,” I admitted more easily than I expected I ever could.
“Does she know?”
I shrugged again.
“You’re gonna louse this up.”
“Nyet—why would you say that?”
“Where is she? Right now?”
“Samoa.”
“And who is she with?”
I shrugged. “I would presume she is with a partner.”
“She went Interpol, didn’t she?”
“She and I have yet to talk the details of her employment, but it would be the most effective way to thoroughly piss off her father and announce her own special brand of independence.”
She nodded solemnly.
“What are you thinking?”
“That pissing off a mob boss of her father’s level is never a wise idea—even if you are blood and part of a clearly oppositional force.”
“It is dangerous work, da. But she is quite clever. And well trained with weapons.”
“Do you know anything about her partner?”
“Nyet.”
“Have you told her how you feel about her?”
“Not in so many words…”
“It only takes three. And they’re short ones.” She stood up and looked at the last wall that had things hanging on it. “I don’t want you to screw this up, Alexi. People like us…”
“People like us?”
She nodded and lifted a picture off its hook. “Yes. Like us. World-weary. Out of luck and fighting falling in love. People like us don’t get many chances at love.”
“So what do you propose I do?”
“Get to her somehow. Tell her what you think and feel. And do it soon.”
“In short: You are instructing someone who is taking your old things away in a trash bag to produce the amount of money to fly internationally to say words that could be spoken over the phone?”
“In short: Yes.”
I rested my head in my hands. “And how do you suggest I accomplish such a grandiose gesture?”
“I’ll give you part of the money when my deposit comes back to me. Should be soon. Call it an investment in our friendship.”
I balked, straightening suddenly. It was not so much the idea as the term she used. Friendship. Mother called her a traitor.… “I don’t take money from friends.”
“Has anyone else offered?”
I looked down at my shoes. “Nyet.”
“Then accept my offer. You can even pay me back, if it makes you feel better.”
“I would.” I lowered the footrest and stood. “I will think on it,” I assured her, picking up the items I had already secured. “I will be back to pick up a few things in a day or two.”
“Sounds good to me,” she replied, motioning to the door.
Jessie
Alexi wasn’t home when they came sniffing around. Amy and I got to the door first and paused in the foyer, recognizing Gabriel. “What’s he doing here?” she hissed at me, her face scrunched up in concern. “We should tell Pietr or Cat.”
My suspicion about Max’s recent behavior—his quick moves and uninterrupted intensity—made me think he was best suited to deal with wolves at the door.
Gabriel knocked again.
“Damn it.” Amy yanked the door open. “Yo, Gabe. What’s up?”
“Or maybe the question should be: ‘What are you doing here?’” I asked.
“Isn’t this a Russian-American household?” A woman stepped into view. “Is there no code of hospitality?”
Yeah, Max could’ve handled this much better. No one expected manners from Max.
“It may be a Russian-American household, but the door’s been opened by two American-American girls. Like yourself, I’m guessing,” I added. “And our current international reputation is far from showcasing our hospitality to suspicious visitors.”
She laughed. “We’re suspicious,” she said to Gabe, with a congratulatory sneer. Yeah, not a smile. Totally a sneer.
“Oh, Gabe’s not suspicious. I know he’s trouble,” I corrected her. “But you’re suspicious by association.”
“I might like you.” But her expression added a dangerous note, as if she’d meant to say: I might like you roasted slowly on a spit. “Life’s short—let’s cut to the chase.”
Amy and I folded our arms and tilted our heads. “Go,” I said.
“You aren’t stupid.”
“Thank god,” Amy muttered.
“You know what we are.”
“I know what he is,” I specified. “A thief. Among more paranormal things,” I added. “I guess you’re the same.”
She shrugged. “We know the ones who live here are the same as us.”
I blinked.
“Not quite.” Max came up behind us and wrapped his arms around Amy protectively. “We’re not thieves.”
The woman leaned forward. “Ah. Max,” she said.
“‘Ah, Max’?” Amy said, looking up at him.
“Do we know each other?”
“I watched you together. On the bridge.”
“Okay. Totally creepy,” Amy muttered. “There’s petty theft and then there’s stalking.”
“Geez,” I muttered. “If someone starts to sparkle, I’m going to worry I’m part of some author’s crazy series.”
“Max,” the woman said. “It is so good to meet one of our own.”
“I’m not anyone’s own,” he corrected.
She pursed her lips and cocked her head.
Pietr and Cat joined us.
Gabe’s gaze flickered to Pietr, some odd bit of recognition lit in his eyes, and he turned his face away, submissive.
But the redhead on the front porch showed no such respect. She stepped right past Max and appraised Pietr with bright green eyes, letting her gaze travel the length of his body.
Boldly.
As she took him in, I watched them both with equal fascination. And I realized I was comparing myself to her as she stood there on the porch. Her waist was narrower. Her neck longer. Her cheekbones more defined.
Pietr was frozen as if he recognized her somehow, though he’d never mentioned her before. Someone from Farthington? An ex-?
I had the feeling I wasn’t going to like the answer.
She drank down his scent, her expression even more intimate, no—indecent—than when her eyes had paused while traveling across his body. Her eyes narrowed, her nose wrinkling for the briefest of moments before she schooled her features once more and smiled, her lips turning in a way I could only describe as languid.
“Pietr Rusakova,” she said, clearly impressed. And—a bit puzzled?
“Da.”
“I am Gabriel’s alpha,” she said.
Pietr pulled me around in front of him, tucking me against him. Posse
ssively. “This is—”
“Jessica Gillmansen,” I reported, offering my hand.
She just looked at it and then back at Pietr.
“Marlaena,” she said, reaching out a hand for Pietr.
I took it and gave it one hell of a shake.
She pulled back, disgust twisting her features.
She didn’t like my touch about as much as I didn’t like her—everything. Yeah. I simply did not like her.
“We need to talk.” Her gaze grazed my face to fully lock on Pietr, who kept his mouth near my ear.
Pietr’s voice was strained. “Say what you must. We are very busy here.”
“We are two different packs that might perhaps consider an alliance.”
“I believe you are misinformed. We were a pack. But now we are cured. Human. Healthy.”
“Really? Cured?” Her eyes widened. “You’re no longer wolf?” Her eyes shifted from his face to Max’s.
Max looked away.
“Nyet. We are no longer wolf.”
“Why would you do that? Why strip away the greatest part of you?” she whispered, her voice thin. “You do not cure a wolf—you embrace it. ‘The Wolf is the Way,’” she proclaimed, her eyes bright.
Pietr’s voice deepened and darkened, a dangerous quality creeping into it. “We choose to live.”
“But how can you live when you deny your nature?”
Pietr shook his head. “There is no need for an alliance.”
“Then will you try and force us out?” Gabriel asked.
Marlaena’s eyes sparked at the idea, and she tilted her head to peer at Pietr from beneath her long bangs.
“Nyet. Why would we do that?” Pietr asked, his head tilting in an odd mimicry of her posture.
“Because we are on your pack’s territory,” Gabriel said, stepping forward, his lip lifted from his teeth.
Max and Pietr blinked at each other. “We do not have the same belief system, it would seem. As long as you do not threaten our family or the people in this community, you’re welcome here.”
Marlaena’s brows drew sharply together. “You are not like the alpha of a normal pack.” Her eyes flickered, and for a moment held mine. “Oh, Pietr.” She reached out to brush his cheek with her fingers, whispering, “It’s her fault, isn’t it?”
I slapped her hand down, and Pietr thrust me behind him protectively, doing his best to snarl at her.