Weregirl (14 page)

“I don't know.” She huddles against Maks, looking as miserable as I feel. “Your friend was heading for the train, but I lost his trail.”

I spin and run for the station, leaving them behind.
Stay with her
, I send to Maks. I don't want him with me. I'm about to blatantly disobey my grandfather's orders and I want to keep Maks out of it if I can.

The station isn't far, the sound of people and the hum of the locomotive on the track, waiting to depart, loud in my wolf ears. I steal a coat hanging on a line in a back yard, the normal town housing the station unfamiliar to me. I shift into human form, wrapping the warm wool around my body, hurrying barefoot to the edge of the tracks and up onto the platform, eyes sweeping over the people and their luggage boarding the train.

There are so many smells and sounds I have a hard time searching for Sage. But I finally catch a hint of him and follow it, relief engulfing my terror. I find him at last, near the end of the passenger car, head down, hands tight on the straps of his backpack. If I stop now, if I just stand here and watch him board, I haven't broken my grandfather's orders. I can simply observe and ensure he makes it on the train, watch him leave, chug off to safety.

Sage's head lifts, turns, his eyes meeting mine as though he knew I was there, watching him. I hesitate, not sure what to do, rising on my toes as my anxiety rises. He waves at me, half-hearted, looks away.

I can't leave things like this. He has to know... what? That I love him? Stupid girl, that's the worst idea you've had all along. But I have to tell him something, free him from this spell we hold upon each other.

The boards are rough under my skin, cold. He's only a few feet away when the conductor emerges and calls for all aboard. Sage doesn't move as the people move around him, holds his place until I reach his side.

“I'm sorry,” I whisper in his ear, tip-toe height just enough to do so. “I never wanted it to end this way.”

“I'm sorry, too,” he says, voice dull. “I should have left things the way you wanted them. It's not like you haven't been secretive all along.” He won't look at me now. “You made it clear in your silence this was nothing more than a tryst to you. I'm an idiot for thinking it could ever be otherwise.” He shakes his head. “Princess.”

Sage is moving away from me, walking for the train, and I can't let him go. I stop him, spin him toward me, my arms around his neck, my breath his breath as I press my lips to his. The old fire wakes and he's kissing me, too, pulling me tight before letting me go with a soft exhale of air puffing mist into the night.

“You take care of yourself, Charlie,” he says with a sad smile, all his anger gone.

“You too.” I don't know what else to say.

He turns away, takes another step. Pauses before spinning back.

“I'll always love you,” he says. And then, with a final two strides, he's boarded the train.

The door closes behind him, the engine firing up only a moment later. The station is quiet, lights going out for the night, the last train of the day departing. I stand there and watch it leave, tears trickling into the warm wool coat, my feet frozen to the empty platform as the last car disappears into the night and I'm alone.

***

I return the coat to the line and morph into werewolf form, running for the palace. I wonder if the real owner will even notice it went missing.

The forest engulfs me, welcomes me home and I embrace its quiet, the night-time stillness of it, more kind to me than anything I'll find back under my grandfather's rule. How can I make this right? And do I want to? The more I think about it, the more my anger tells me Oleksander is blowing this way out of proportion, and that all of my fear about telling him in the first place was unfounded. It was a love affair, not a betrayal of my people. And it’s over. Sage knows nothing about me, or the werenation. And it’s not like other werewolves haven’t mated with normals. I’m hardly the first one to do it. But I’m the very first wereprincess, aren’t I? And heaven forbid I muddy our precious bloodline with the taint of a normal.

It’s not like I’m pregnant with his child—I’m certain of that—or fighting to have him accepted as my mate. I’ve chosen to let him go. Oleksander will just have to get over the fact I am independent now, a changed weregirl, no matter his disapproval, his doubts about my loyalty. And like it or not, I am who I am.

Feeling slightly better, knowing Sage is at least safe for the moment and I am on firmer ground than I thought I was, I feel my tense muscles relax as I settle into my run.

It's not long before I find the white wolf and her pack ghosting me. Did they follow? Their territory isn't large, typically lingering around the palace grounds. They—and I—are a long way from their usual stomping grounds. But I'm thankful for their appearance, for their support and the quiet strength of the pack. Being with them is the only time I don't feel oppressed or judged or trapped.

I'm almost to the edge of the trees, so close to the palace prison I live in, when the white wolf barks a warning. I slow and come to a stop, scenting a pair of familiar witches waiting for me. I'm still in wereform when I greet the Enforcer and his witch partner at the fringe by the lawn.

“Finlay.” The hulking form nods to me. “And Gwendolyn.” They've been our personal liaisons with Femke and the Council since our freedom and are welcome in our territory. So why are they waiting for me here?

“We spoke with Maksym and Isabelle,” Gwendolyn says, her hazel eyes sad. “Trouble we should know about?”

I shrug it off. “Not Council business,” I say, though part of it really is. But I'd rather talk to Femke about it if I have to.

Gwen nods, brushing a strand of blonde hair from her cheek, tucking it into the black hood of her robe. “Fair enough,” she says.

I long to shift into human, to dress and put an end to this horrible night, but I can tell they aren't here for a social call. “What's wrong?”

“We need to talk to your grandfather.” Finlay's deep voice and huge form hide the heart of a creative soul. I've sighed over his singing voice, the paintings he's created with those giant hands. But he sounds as grim as I've ever heard him, almost angry.

“So go talk to him.” I step away from them, only to have Gwendolyn gesture to me.

“He's not allowing anyone in the palace,” she says, taking care with her words. “So, I'll ask you your own question, Charlotte: what's wrong?”

The big fool. What is he playing at? “Come with me,” I growl, stalking out of the trees and across the lawn. I don't bother to shift, staying in werewolf form as I push past the guards who bow to me and allow the witch pair through after I glare in their direction. My paws are soundless on the carpet, the only evidence of our passing the rustling of the cloaks the witches wear.

I don't hesitate at the throne room door, continuing my furious approach, my anger growing by the step as the rebellion in me wakes all over again. Letting go of Sage has only made things worse, not better. I had hoped saying this final goodbye would break the hold my new insurrection has over me, but it’s only fed the fire I created by falling in love with Sage.

Besides, it is one thing for my grandfather to be angry with me, but quite another for him to deny the entry of Femke's envoys. I am not fooling myself, even if he is. If the European High Council wants us under their thumb, they would make it happen. We are vastly outnumbered and out powered. Keeping on their good side is far more important than moping over my love life.

Or lack of, at this point.

Oleksander looks up from his throne, scowling at me, though when he spots the pair with me, his anger fades to curiosity.

“Welcome,” he says.

“They don't feel very welcome,” I snap at him, wolf-voice full of reprimand.

He snarls in return, mouth turning to a muzzle. “Speak softly to your king.”

“It’s of no matter,” Gwendolyn says, interrupting with her soft voice and easy manner. “We were told you weren't seeing anyone, but our orders were specific.” She shrugs with a small smile. “Forgive the intrusion, Great King.”

He shudders, face returning to normal. “Those idiots,” he snaps. “I didn't mean envoys of the Council. You are, of course, always welcome.”

I reach for the robe one of the guards slips to me, expertly sliding into it as my blonde-furred body reverts to human shape. Practice makes for flawless transitions for modesty’s sake. “It's always a pleasure to have you here,” I say, my back turned to my grandfather. “But you aren't joining us for the enjoyment of our company.”

Finlay snorts while Gwendolyn shakes her head, face sad and worried. “I'm afraid not,” she says. “I have terrible news and a request from the Council Leader for assistance.”

I refuse to look at Oleksander, but I feel his concern as powerful as mine. At least he’s willing to put his own anger aside for the moment, long enough to accept there are bigger issues that might be more important than his petty disappointment.

Charlotte. Who are you becoming? I shiver in the robe as I ponder the question and my grandfather speaks.

“What has happened?” He comes down from his throne to join us. He keeps his distance from me and I’m glad. I don’t think I could tolerate his touch right now.

“Someone is making werewolves,” Finlay says in his usual blunt manner before Gwendolyn can soften the blow. “And Femke needs your help to find out who.”

***

I gasp at Finlay while Oleksander swears in Ukrainian, something he rarely does.

“You're certain?” It's a silly question, but I don't blame him for asking. I'm in such shock it seems a logical one to me, too.

Gwendolyn glares at her partner a moment before nodding with sympathy. “We are,” she says.

“Revenants are popping up all over Eastern Europe,” Finlay continues, like it’s no big deal. “Just a handful, but we don't need to remind you creating werewolves is illegal.” I take it from his tone he has questions for us, but I try not to take his suspicions personally. He's an Enforcer, only doing his job.

My grandfather isn't so gracious. “Are you accusing us of something?” He looms larger, as tall as Finlay. “And why is it, if such creatures are, as you say, springing up all over Eastern Europe, is it we are only now hearing of their appearance?”

Actually an excellent question, as it turns out.

Gwendolyn smacks Finlay firmly with one little hand. “Of course we’re not accusing you,” she says. “Not in the least. We are simply here to ask your help in uncovering the perpetrators of such a heinous crime.” She glances at her partner again. “Leader Svennson has been holding off, though I don’t have the reason for her hesitation. You’ll have to ask her personally why she’s kept this from you.”

I shudder and nod, remembering the revenant the Black Souls killed, wondering what Femke was thinking.

“Council Leader Svennson would like your assistance at this juncture,” Gwen went on. “She requests the presence of Charlotte to investigate this matter more fully and hopefully put an end to the situation sooner rather than later.”

I nod immediately, ignoring Oleksander, knowing if I give him a crack to slip into he'll make an excuse to keep me here, especially now. But he surprises me by turning to me with a sad frown.

“I know you will make me proud,” he says before turning back to his throne. I rankle at the implication of his words, as though I need the reminder. He can be disappointed all he wants. I’m done caring. “Please, keep me informed.”

Is he apologizing with his final parting words, offering an olive branch to soothe our past clash? Possibly. But I'm not in the mood to decipher his feelings or my own.

And maybe I do care, just a little bit.

“Give me a moment,” I say, “and I'll be right with you.”

I feel better dressed in my familiar dark jeans and leather jacket, my button up snug around my ribs. My boots ring a single step on the stone as I escort the pair of witches to the lawn. When the blue power of Finlay's magic lifts me, I fight the urge to struggle, knowing it will only make his job harder. But he has a firm hand and I feel trapped until the blue light flares and he releases me into Femke's office at Oxford.

She sits behind her large desk, scowling down at some paperwork, but when she raises her head, her ice-blue eyes meeting mine, they are smiling.

Femke rises, coming around the heavy mahogany desk, the moonlight over the yard outside her office reflecting from the leaves left on the trees. I hug her as she opens her arms to me, tall, lean body powerful in magic. Her blonde hair, cropped short, tickles my nose when I pull away, the soft scent of her soap and the gentle smell of her skin lingering.

“Thank you for coming.” Always gracious, Femke gestures for me to take a seat before smiling at her witches. “Well done, you two. Have our other guests arrived?”

The air flickers with shadow and two vampires appear as if in answer to her question. I wave at Sunny who bends and kisses my cheek, then at Sebastian who bows over my hand, brushing his lips across my fingers. He's a delicious specimen and had Syd married him I would have been hideously jealous. As it is, I'd considered talking to him, except he is so deep into using his newfound abilities to save his people, I know Sebastian isn't a choice for me.

Not to mention the sweet-faced blonde who hovered behind him. Syd's former best friend, ghost turned who-knew-what, seems to have the Sebastian market cornered anyway. I smile at Alison Morgan and she tentatively smiles back.

“Only one left,” Femke says as she shakes Sebastian's hand.

“Are you waiting for me?” Piers appears from a black tunnel, grinning like he's been waiting to make his entrance. For all I know, he has. I certainly don't put it past him. He bends and kisses my cheek, the same spot Sunny did, though the whisper of his breath feels far different than her cold caress. I can't think of Piers as he sits next to me, trying to take my hand. My fingers curl inward as I cup them in my lap. He has to know something has changed since he saw me last, but I don’t have time to tell him. Or the heart.