Forever Werewolf

She gaped.

“Guess I hit that one right on the nail, eh?” he said. “But I prefer Lexi, the smart, cautious chick who is going to break down sooner rather than later and give me a big warm smile.”

Her gaping mouth shut and her brows curved downward. About as opposite a smile as she could manage.

He wouldn’t stop working on her. He knew a smile lived somewhere behind those blue mirrored lenses.

“Take me to your leader,” he said with only a modicum of seriousness.

With a perceived roll of her eyes, she pressed a digital combination on the door lock and walked inside the room, announcing her arrival as she did so, “Father, I’ve brought Monsieur Hawkes to see you.”

They passed through the meeting room. The long, polished conference table stretched ten feet before the two-story windows on the far side. A few leather couches sat near the entrance, and a massive field-stone fireplace occupied the entire wall to Tryst’s left. A video conferencing system sat in the middle of the table.

Medieval castle meets hi-tech office. He liked it.

Lexi had disappeared through a side door, which she had left open, but Tryst hung back. Nerves made him shake loose fists near his thighs. He never got nervous. Fear had been beaten out of him in his teenage years. But the place intimidated him. He stood within the inner sanctum of a pack principle—and only last night he may have offended him.

He’d always wondered what it would be like to live within a pack. To live under their rules and society. To have a leader to look up to, and to follow a specific hierarchy that placed each and every wolf in rank.

Growing up with his mother and father, he’d not had anything resembling a pack. They’d treated Trystan as if he were a werewolf from birth, because Rhys had said he just knew. A child born with mixed heritage never really knew what he would become until puberty. Trystan had always related to his father’s gentle werewolf side anyway. Yet heaven forbid, he should ever reveal his paternity. Pack Alpine would make mincemeat out of him.

Worse yet, if they knew his mother was a blood-born vampire, he’d never get out of this castle in one piece. Sure, wolves and vamps worldwide stood on reasonably peaceable terms, but they’d never seen eye to eye. Make that eye to fang. Tryst had learned to be leery around vamp-hating wolves. Hell, he may have a bit of prejudice toward longtooths themselves, but that was changing after meeting his half brother, Vaillant, last year. Vaillant was a blood-born vampire, as well.

Strange family ties.

“Enter.”

At the monotone invitation, Tryst assumed a more menial posture of slightly bowed head and lax shoulders as he entered Principal Connor’s private quarters.

The massive bedroom boasted a four-poster bed clothed in dark browns and blacks. The walls and floors were stone, and medieval-looking tapestry rugs had been scattered here and there. An enormous HD television hung on one wall between a moose head and what appeared to be a boar head sporting massive tusks. Tryst was not keen on killing wildlife, and he kept a cringe to himself.

Over by the windowed wall, Tryst saw the man seated on the overwide windowsill. Sunlight beamed across his figure so he couldn’t make out an expression or posture, and a plaid blanket had been spread over his lap.

Now his good judgment snapped to the fore, and, as his father had directed him, Tryst went down on one knee and bowed his head, offering a respectful greeting. “Principal Connor, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Again. Thank you for your hospitality. Please accept my apologies for being so brisk with you last night. I was more worried about finding the men lost in the snow than protocol.”

“He doesn’t seem so unruly, Alexis.” The principal directed the words at his daughter, and then to Tryst he said, “I forgive you only because my daughter has told me of your relentless quest to help find my pack members. Have they all been accounted for?”

Tryst looked to Lexi, who he expected would have the tally.

“Still one missing,” she offered. “Sandra. Liam believes she was running out on the track right before the avalanche.”

“A female,” the principal said with cheerless calm. “And so young. I had just approved her engagement to Vincent. That is unfortunate.”

Tryst felt the old wolf’s grief. Losing a female—hell, anyone—was a tragedy. And she’d obviously been ready to start a new life with marriage to the scion, probably eager to have kids, and build the pack. Both would be counted as a great loss.

He shouldn’t be here. He could be doing more good outside than on his knees.

“Come, have a seat over here,” the principal said to Trystan. “The sun is high and bright this morning. I love the rare winter sun.”

Casting Lexi a raised brow—had the principal earlier referred to him as unruly?—Tryst accepted the invitation and sat across from the principal on the easy chair covered in what may have been pony hide. The rough hide felt nasty under his palms, so he fisted his hands on his thighs.

The principal was not old, and should not appear old, for wolves lived a good three centuries, aging slowly and gracefully, as was Rhys. He looked a little pale, though his smile felt warm and Tryst’s apprehensions sluiced away.

“As much as I would love the chat, Principal Connor, I feel compelled to head outside and join the search. But if you’d allow me my curiosity, can I ask what it was I delivered to you last night?”

“Your father didn’t tell you?”

“The mission to bring it here was so urgent, he slapped the case in my hands and sent me off. I know only it was an elixir of some sort.”

“Alexis.”

The principal’s daughter stepped in and took the case from the table by the bed, gently setting it on her father’s lap.

The principal held up a vial of violet liquid in the beam of winter sunlight. “Wolfsbane.”

“Wolfsbane?” Tryst shoved backward and his boots scraped across the stone floor loudly. He ignored Lexi’s reprimanding glance. “Can I ask why you requested something from Hawkes Associates that could bring your death, Principal Connor?”

The elder wolf tilted the vial in observation. “I’ve had this stored with Hawkes Associates since the turn of the twentieth century. You just returned it to me. A gift from a warlock who warned me someday what could cause me harm may also bring me good. Wolfsbane can bring a werewolf death or, if administered in the proper dose, give life. Or so one can hope.”

He handed the vial to his daughter, who took it in her gloved hand and went to place it on the bedroom vanity.

“You have a need for either?” Tryst questioned.

“You’re very bold, boy. Always a detriment to those wolves not raised in a pack.”

“Forgive me. I’m trying. Pack life fascinates me, but there is much I have to learn.”

“It isn’t your fault you were denied the pack experience. I know your father well.” Edmonton tilted his head in that same assessing manner Lexi had when they’d first met. Tryst had been weighed and measured far too many times to even flinch. “You hold a dangerous secret, boy.”

Tryst averted his eyes from Lexi’s curiosity. Would she ever take off those sunglasses? He didn’t know if she knew the secret her father claimed to know, but he preferred she did not. He noted her fists tightened near her thighs. Of course her father would warn her against him.

Damn. So much for winning the werewolf princess. If his heritage were revealed to her, he was as good as mud beneath her kick-ass boots.

“Well, whatever it is you intend to use it for—” he gestured toward the vial of wolfsbane, diverting the conversation “—I hope you get the desired results.”

Tryst offered his hand to Edmonton, though from what his father had told him, he shouldn’t expect the gesture to be reciprocated. But the old man leaned forward, extending his hand. The handshake started Tryst’s heart beating a little faster. He felt as though he’d been bestowed a great honor.

“Thank you, Principal Connor. I’ll report to my father that you’ve received the package.”

“Do tell him thank you from me, will you?”

“I will. Uh, would it be okay with you if I remain at Wulfsiege to finish the rescue operation and help your pack dig out? I’ve nowhere else I need to be, and I do enjoy the hard work. Besides, right now, the only way out is on foot.”

The principal cast a discerning gaze over Trystan. He suspected that he didn’t quite measure up to the principal’s standards, the old man knowing what he did about Trystan’s lineage. It mattered little. And then it did, because he felt the princess’s regard so close behind him.

“You have my permission to stay until we’re dug out,” the principal offered.

Tryst nodded and backed from the room, swinging around as he entered the conference room. He had a long day ahead of him.