Wolf, en Garde

Chapter 1: Washington, DC-3

There was something to be said, Lyle thought, staring with a decided lack of interest at the dinner plate Henry had set in front of him, for the saying that once a person got used to steak they weren’t interested in hamburger anymore. Of course, in his case, steak meant live meat and hamburger the crap that sat in front of him. Some days—most days—it seemed like he had no interest in anything but that which ran fast, yet not quite fast enough. He’d even begun to wonder if his teeth would start dropping from his gums due to a lack of…God, what even…vitamin C? Vitamin D? Vitamin f**k-this-s**t-if-it-wasn’t-running? He’d be the first man to end up with scurvy in the free world in the year of our Lord two-thousand-and-seventeen. He c****d his head and poked at his food. Did one even get scurvy from eating nothing but meat? Were wolves—half-wolves, really—even prone to such a thing? Probably…

“You doing okay there, Lyle?”

Lyle startled so hard that his fork clacked against the plate. He turned to his right, caught his father’s gaze, and bitter distaste washed over his tongue. “Sure. Yeah.” He cleared his throat in an effort to keep a suitable tone in his voice, and shrugged. “Why?”

The drawl in Vaughn’s voice suggested peaceful reflection, but the inflection was most likely added for the benefit of their hosts. The glint in his eyes was cold steel. “You’ve barely touched your food. Is there something wrong?” Must you act like a fussy brat in front of Randy’s parents?

The last part wasn’t said, but it was there between the two of them, as obvious as the spoken words had been.

“No, sir.” Lyle forced himself to smile. “Everything’s perfect.” He lifted his fork, which was as much of an effort as putting the smile on had been, and dug into…something…meat-like…Was it meatloaf? It was definitely some kind of meat-ish g**k, but with bits of veggies and maybe even…beans? Lentils? Who the f**k put s**t like that in meat? “I’m just not as hungry as I thought I was, I guess.”

Randy’s eyes ticked to Lyle’s, and just for a second, their gazes caught each other. The expression Randy gave him made Lyle feel sick to his stomach. Pity. Concern.

Lyle stilled the sweep of anger that coursed through him. He looked down at his plate of food and dropped his fork. “I think I’m going to go lie down for a bit. I’m really not feeling—”

“Lyle, for heaven’s sake, Mr. Connor went out of his way—”

“Can I get you something else?”

It was Randy’s mother that cut Vaughn off, and the look of unadulterated disbelief that Randy gave her was almost laughable. What’s the matter, Randy? She doesn’t do that for you?

Lyle offered Mary his warmest smile. “No, thank you, ma’am. It’s just been a long day.”

“Then lie down is what you’ll do,” Mary said with a nod. “But first…”

Henry sighed. “Mary, now is not the time. The kids just got here—”

Mary lifted her brows, higher and somehow mightier than Lyle had ever seen anyone do. She even managed to pull a sucked-in cheek thing at the same time, without making it look like it was ridiculous. Mostly not ridiculous, anyway. “Do not talk to me about time. I think, out of all of us, that I understand the concept of how much time we have better than anyone.”

She set her utensils on her plate crossed in a perfect X, fork over knife. She pushed her plate forward, dropped her hands to her lap, and lifted her chin. Then she took a deep breath. A hush fell over the kitchen. Everyone watched with their own level of fascination: her husband, defeated but resigned; Randy, nervously terrified; Vaughn, annoyed (no doubt still over the fact he’d been cut off mid-scold); and Hannah, interested. Only Isaac seemed to be experiencing what Lyle was—semi-controlled delight over the woman’s ability to hold court.

“I am retiring.”

The words bounded across the kitchen floor like a dropped rubber ball. It was all Lyle could do to hold back a snort of laughter. That was it? That was the big news with all the dramatic pre-game-face bullshit?

Randy breathed a sigh of relief. “Jesus, Mom. I thought you were going to say you were dying or some damn thing…” His words trailed off. He glanced from his mother to his father. “I mean, this is good news, right? You’re still young. You’ve made good money. I’m sure you and Dad have things you want to do.”

The corners of Mary’s mouth ticked. “I have no doubt that your father and I will enjoy the time immensely.”

As if the words had a force behind them that no one else felt, Henry’s chair shot back and he stood. He looked strangely flustered. “I should start clearing some of this food up.”

“You should sit down, Henry,” Mary said before turning to Randy. “I swear that man will run from his own coroner.” She stopped Randy before he had a chance to speak. “There’s something else. And I want you to know that I’m only telling you this now because, for one, we can do it face to face. For another, you have a system of support around you at the moment.”

The way she enunciated “system of support” made Lyle think of his fourth-grade teacher, nearly killing the feeble hold he was trying to keep on seriousness. He had no doubt that Mary was about to say something that would be, if not dire, at least disconcerting. But the emotion coming off Mrs. Connor, radiating off her, in fact, was pure, unadulterated enjoyment. Be it the undivided attention she was getting from her guests and family, or just a sick, sad thrill at delivering bad news, Lyle couldn’t say. He could say, however, he was finding her a little more interesting for every extra moment he sat there watching.

“It’s nothing too severe, at least.” She lowered her eyes. “For the time being. So far I just have some slight visual and motor issues and those are proving to be fairly insignificant and irregular. Occasionally, I have trouble coordinating my hands to work as my brain is telling them to. The medical imaging has—”

“Medical imaging?” Randy’s voice caught on the words and he had to pause to find his tongue. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“MS, or so they tell me.” She stated it so nonchalantly she could have been asking for the salt. “As I was about to say, the medical imaging has shown a supportive argument for the diagnosis. They’ve also done a lumbar puncture, of course, as well as tested my eyes. While it could get more troublesome, and probably will, they say it could take years. Unfortunately, they’ve taken my license from me. That, and the strain of my current position on the bench, have led your father and I to believe the best thing for the situation would be retirement.”

The kitchen fell into a long, awkward silence, until both Randy and Hannah spoke at the same time.

“I’m sorry that you’re sick, Mrs. Connor,” came right alongside Randy’s, “How long have you known?”

“A few months now,” Henry said, smiling at Hannah as if in apology to the fact he was answering Randy’s question instead of acknowledging her statement. “Mary and I thought we should wait to discuss it until we knew for sure.”

“Besides,” Mary sighed. “You had enough on your plate with your new family.”

“Nonsense.” Vaughn looked up, his expression stricken. “We would have been happy to help. In any way we could. Randy, you know that’s true, right?”

Randy’s eyes were wide—deer-caught-in-the-headlights wide. “Of course!” He faced his mother. “I’m never too busy for you two. Especially with something like this! Mom, Dad,” he added, looking at each of them in turn. “You should have told me.”

“We are.” Mary smiled. “Now, please eat before your dinners get cold.” She glanced around the table, and when her gaze landed on Lyle, her smile got positively devilish. “It’s kind of amusing, isn’t it? I mean, considering what your father and my son must have gotten up to in their lives, who’d ever imagine that I’d be the one to end up with an autoimmune disorder?”

Lyle choked on the bubble of laughter he caught in his throat. “Sorry,” he reached for his glass of water. “It’s just so…so terribly sad. I’m very sorry.”

The look Vaughn shot him spoke silently of painful deaths. Randy, on the other hand, just looked disoriented and flustered.

“It’s okay, Randy,” Isaac, who sat beside Randy and had been, up to that point, busily polishing off a mound of potatoes that seemed big enough to feed a small army, leaned closer and smiled. “Our mom’s dead, too.”

“Isaac O’Connell!” Vaughn’s chair protested as he slid it back across the floor.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, child,” Mrs. Connor squeaked. For a second her voice sounded like a little bird squawking for food. She picked up her utensils, set them on her meatloaf, and carved off a tiny slice. “I’m not dead yet! I’ll be around for quite some time. It’s just best not to…well, let’s say ‘deteriorate in public.’“

She slipped her fork in her mouth and chewed slowly. After she’d swallowed, she tapped Randy’s plate with her fork. “Let’s eat. Don’t ruin our first dinner together in months.”

By the grace of both small children, the conversation stuttered into one that could almost be considered normal, and by the time they’d finished eating and the dishes were loaded into the dishwasher, both Hannah and Isaac were yawning. Lyle never saw his dad jump so happily to put two kids to bed in his life as Vaughn did then, and when Randy insisted that Vaughn would need assistance, Henry came up with a sudden need to go out to the garage.

“Ideal family,” Lyle muttered as he walked through the living room and toward the staircase that would take him back up to the second floor. Lovely neighborhood, lovely home, lots of money—too bad the family seemed to be just as f****d up as most. “Not.”

“Did you enjoy the show, Lyle?”

Lyle jumped, immediately beginning to pray in silence. Please don’t let her have heard me. Please don’t let her have heard me…

Isaac, his father would forgive for running off at the mouth. Him, not so much.

“Mrs. Connor.” Lyle stopped, took a breath, and turned to face the room. She sat in a tall leather chair in front of a low-burning gas fire. Short yellow and orange flames flickered above pink and blue roots. Faux logs of indeterminable material lay underneath them, as fake as the smile on Mary’s face.

“Well?” She crossed her legs and stared at him. “Did you? Or did I misinterpret your amusement?”

Panic began to worm through Lyle’s guts. “Oh, no, ma’am. I mean, yes. As in, I wasn’t. Amused, that is—”

“It’s all right, Lyle.” She waved him closer. “I won’t tell anyone. To be honest, I found your reaction quite honest. I was rather amused myself.”

Lyle frowned. “Ma’am?”

“We don’t think like these people, you and I.” Her expression darkened into one that seemed much more genuine. “And thank God for that.”

“I don’t think I understand—”

Mary snorted. “Nonsense. Do you ever wonder, Lyle…” She paused as she eyed him. “…if certain people are put here for our amusement? Those who are not quite as smart, not nearly as creative, those who are easily led by regulation and expectation. I wonder that a lot.” She nodded, even though Lyle didn’t dare to reply. “I spent a lot of years on the bench, Lyle. Many, many, many years. Before it was popular for women to be there, even. And in all that time, do you know what I’ve found most interesting?”

Lyle didn’t expect her to wait for his answer, nor did she.

“That the criminal minds were much more intriguing than those of the good guys. They were brighter. More vivid. And don’t tell me again that you don’t understand me, because I can see in your eyes that you do. Now, as much as at dinner. The rest, though…” She shook her head and shrugged. “The rest are all lost causes.”

Lyle choked on a dry, confused laugh. “With all due respect, ma’am, that is my family you’re talking about.”

Once again Mary’s shoulders lifted and fell. “Mine, also. Yes.” She looked up the stairs and frowned at whatever she imagined she saw up there. “I didn’t do so well with him. He had so much potential. And now…what, even? Do I dare say houseboy? The houseboy of a…” She turned her attention back to Lyle. “What does your father even do?”

Lyle licked his lips. He cast his gaze at the fireplace. For reasons he couldn’t quite figure out, he didn’t want to look into Mary’s eyes when he answered her. “He’s a member of our community council, ma’am. And a handyman for hire.”

She cackled a sound that could only be interpreted as a laugh, though it was quiet, sharp, and not a happy one in the least. “A handyman for hire. And a council member for a community the size of this neighborhood. You must be very proud.” She waited for Lyle to look at her, and when he did, “What about you, Lyle? What plans do you have for your life?”

A flush of heat began to creep up Lyle’s neck. “I haven’t given it much thought, ma’am.”

“You should.” She reached for the table beside her and picked up a wine glass. “We have several excellent universities here, you know. People. Nightlife. It’s…” She stopped as though to weigh her words. “A lot to offer a young man, if that young man wished to see something beyond the trees and bushes of a place like Wolf.”

Lyle opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“I know what you’re thinking: why is she saying this? What is this all about? Let me put it to you like this, because as a child who spent many of his developing years without a mother, you might not understand. As mothers, no matter what else we may be—judge, doctor, President—it is our legacy that makes our lives worthwhile. When we leave this earth, the only things that will carry on are our children—what we’ve taught them, and what they will, in turn, teach to others.

“Unfortunately, my blood legacy is not the legacy I want defining my life. I missed that opportunity when Randy gave up everything and ran off to Wyoming. But you know something, Lyle? Maybe my legacy won’t come from blood. There’s something in you that I never saw in him. I wanted to.” She laughed, shook her head, and took a sip from her glass. “Sometimes I even lied and told myself I could see it. That he’d come around if I gave him some time. That he’d be everything I thought he was, and everything I knew he could be. I was wrong. I’ve lost him.”

“Randy loves you very much—”

“And what is love? Can you tell me of a single instance where love has made anyone truly happy?” Mary shook her head slowly, answering on Lyle’s behalf. “Love is what made me lose him. To that damn Wolf.”

Lyle startled. “Wolf?”

She arched her brow. “That is the name of your little community, isn’t it?”

Lyle released a breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding. “Right. Yes. Of course.”

“You have an opportunity here, Son.” She set the glass down, rearranged herself on the chair, and stretched her neck. “Don’t get stuck in that godforsaken town forever. See beyond what you’ve been taught. You deserve that.”

For a second, Lyle wrestled between the urge to speak and the urge to remain respectful. Then something in his chest hardened, and he couldn’t hold himself back. “Forgive me for saying so, but I can’t shake the impression that you’re just trying to get even, Ma’am. I know that might come across as rude, but I can’t help it. Wolf and my father took your son from you. Now you want to get back at it by making sure that it—that he—loses something as well.”

A small smile creased Mary’s face. “See?” She looked him dead in the eye. “I told you that we think alike.”

Lyle wasn’t sure if he was terrified or in awe. Talk about your wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“Good night, Lyle.” She nodded and turned toward the fire. “Get yourself a good sleep. Or whatever it is a young man does on his first night in a big city, if it’s not sleep.”

He had, Lyle told himself, fully intended to go to sleep. At least he’d had, until that moment. The idea of investigating the city at night hadn’t even crossed his mind. He hadn’t been much of a wanderer until the change had hit him. From that moment on, however, the night sky had called him consistently, and Lyle had obeyed. While Vaughn only changed when Vaughn had to, on the cycle of the full moons, and though the GDBCG ogres continuously told Lyle that changing too frequently wasn’t good for his emotional and mental well-being, Lyle would gladly and gratefully limit his time spent in human form to the grand total of never if he had his way.

He had no doubts that the night sky over DC would be just as addictive as the one above Wolf.

They’d been given a tour of the house when they arrived—an executive-style three-level townhouse with a rooftop terrace—but it wouldn’t have been hard to find his way around without it. The entry level housed the two-bay garage, a theatre room, a powder room, and a couple of smaller rooms they hadn’t been shown, which led Lyle to assume they’d been laundry and utility facilities. The main floor, being open concept, had the kitchen, dining, and living spaces with (as Mary had pointed out) a family room in the back they’d converted into a bedroom for themselves for the time being. The upper level had the master suite, where Vaughn and Randy would be sleeping and showering, as well as two smaller bedrooms. The spare bedroom would be used by Hannah and Isaac, and Randy’s former bedroom had been given to Lyle. It would be fairly easy to worm his way out of the townhouse without being seen through several different avenues.

Lyle reached for his bedroom door his head already in the clouds and his feet itching to feel grass when the door beside his room opened, and his father walked out into the hallway.

Vaughn lifted a finger to his lips, nudged the door almost closed behind him and then walked forward. “You stay in tonight,” he whispered, but his tone by no means lightened the command in his voice. “No running.”

Lyle turned to face his bedroom door in order to hide his eye roll. “Of course.”

“I’m serious,” Vaughn insisted. “We don’t know this place, or these people, or what the committee’s representation is in this area.”

“Yeah, I know.” Lyle twisted the knob of the door and shoved it open. “I’m not an i***t, contrary to popular opinion.”

Vaughn followed Lyle when he opened the door, and it took everything Lyle had not to freak out when Vaughn peered through the window as if to check the surroundings. “Oh, my God, I get it, Dad! I’m going to bed. To sleep. Relax!”

“Make sure—”

“Dad!” The word came out so sharp that Lyle had to immediately lower his voice. “I’m not a kid. I haven’t been a kid for years. You have to stop.”

Eying him, Vaughn shrugged in what seemed to be a gesture of nonchalance. “Then be sure not to act like one, okay? This isn’t just me being overprotective. You could end up locked up with no hope of getting out. Worse, you could end up dead. Promise me.”

Lyle dropped onto the bed with a heavy sigh. “Sweet Jesus. I said ‘okay’ and I meant ‘okay.’ What do you want?”

“I want you to promise.”

“Fine,” Lyle hissed. “I promise. I promise!”

The first thing Lyle did when his father stepped back into the hallway was shut the door. The second was to run his thumb over the handle to feel for a lock. He smiled when he found one, though he wasn’t a bit surprised. People like the Connors tended to regard things like personal space as not only necessary but something to be guarded. His father could learn a few things in that respect.

He twisted the lock, checked the door, and then stripped out of his clothes. He walked to the window, slid it aside, and then unclipped the screen from its seat. The breeze was soft and warm, but even though it seemed like the open window wouldn’t be an issue, Lyle walked back to the door and tucked his jeans against the gap between it and the floor. The last thing he needed was Vaughn getting a whiff of fresh air and wondering why. He dug out his suitcase, pulled a folded plastic sheet out of the bottom of it, opened it, and spread it out over the floor.

When he stepped into the middle of it, the peace he’d been searching for all day fell over him like a wave of warm seawater.

Two agonizing moments later, there was no man left standing in the bedroom, but the plastic sheet was spattered with a multitude of chunks from that man’s form—hair, skin, teeth. Bright yellow eyes surveyed the open window, four strong legs leaped to pull him through the frame, and heavy paws landed almost soundlessly on the roof of the covered deck. The roofline extended to the townhouses that sat to the right of the Connors’, and a tall tree stood to the left. Lyle didn’t need either. The paws he’d landed on had no trouble carrying him from roof to ground without incident.